


Hearts of Fire

by Xyriath



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Basically a pastiche and homage to a bunch of fun fantasy tropes, Blood and Injury, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Dragon Keith, Dragons, Fluff, Injury Recovery, Knight Shiro, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sex with Dragons, Shapeshifting, This was actually conceptualized and started before S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 16:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12610872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: Sir Shiro Silverarm, knight errant, renowned across all the lands for his fairness and righteousness (and his striking good looks), has been hired to rescue royalty from dragons before.  Though he’ll never kill an innocent, neither will he hesitate to do whatever necessary to return the kingdom’s prince safe and sound.But honest as Shiro might be, not everyone shares his principles.  After horribly botching the rescue, he learns there’s more to this story than what he’s been told, and he’ll need to think quickly if he’s to save hundreds of dragons from a terrible fate.Or, “How to be Trained by Your Dragon.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Shiro Big Bang](http://voltronbigbang.tumblr.com/), and I had the immense pleasure of working with [Inkforwords](http://inkforwordsart.tumblr.com/) and [Yoshirueme](http://yoshirueme.tumblr.com/)

_Art by[Inkforwordsart](http://inkforwordsart.tumblr.com/post/167066337415/hearts-of-fire-by-xyriath-rated-e-sheith)_

* * *

As the rock of Shiro’s latest handhold crumbled under his fingers, forcing him to flail about for another, barely managing to snag one in time, he wished once again that he had brought climbing tools.

A desert, they had told him; not especially standard fare for a typical dragonslaying.  He had erroneously assumed that that meant he wouldn’t be scaling cliffsides, as these things tended to call for, and so the tools hadn’t made his list of extremely necessary materials.  After all, a desert meant traveling light.

But, he had soon learned, a desert also meant plateaus and mountains.  Not as many as an actual mountain range, but still plenty high.  While scaling one of those, without gear, in a set of full plate armor, might not be the most foolish idea in the world, at the moment, he struggled to find one that would top it.

Not for the first time, he reflected how much easier his life would be if he owned a void pocket, but his wistfulness would do him no good now.

With a grunt, he hauled himself up onto a ledge, taking advantage of the cliff’s angle to take shelter from the sun.  He had chosen the side that faced east for a reason; as the sun continued across the sky, the rock provided a growing relief of shade that kept him from boiling alive in his armor.

He settled into a niche, rock at his back, and pulled his flask off of his hip.  Shaking it for a moment to activate the magic, he felt the water slosh inside, then popped it open, lifting his visor to take a sip.

He resisted the urge to guzzle the ice cold water, instead swallowing slowly, and when he had emptied it, he placed the top back on and shook it again.  When he heard the water slosh, he reopened it, then splashed the cool liquid on his face.

With a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes, grateful, at least, that the water didn’t make a sizzling sound when it splashed against his armor.

All too soon, however, he had to resume his climb, and this close to the top, he was as rested as he was going to get.

It was several minutes before he reached a much larger outcropping, and as he slowly lifted his head over its edge, he spotted a shadowed opening marring the otherwise smooth cliff face.  Finally.

Keeping as still as he could, he turned, peering around, every sense on alert for danger.

He saw nothing, and the only sound he heard was the same desert backdrop as usual.  Wind, the occasional cry of some desert bird.  His nose, picking up an acrid smell of fire and smoke and metal, told him that he had reached the right place, but it lingered, an old scent instead of a recent one.  He felt no vibrations in the stone under his hands to signify movement inside the rock; even the dry air he inhaled through his mouth tasted of utter stillness.

Moving as slowly and stealthily as he could in plate armor, Shiro hauled himself up over the edge.

Once Shiro had his feet underneath him, he took in his surroundings.  Though the cave was technically set in the side of the mountain, the expanse of ground in front of it was plenty wide, possibly even wide enough to pasture horses or cattle.  Goats might have done well up here: though grassy plains were of course an impossibility, sparse vegetation cropped up here and there.

Of course, the nearby dragon nest precluded all of these things anyway.

He noted several rocky outcroppings that would prove good shelter if this came to combat.  He still had yet to test if his enchanted chainmail protected from dragonfire, and he would like to avoid doing so for as long as possible.

Having taken in the strategical value of what might become a battlefield, Shiro took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Dragon Kierveros of Galrath!” Shiro called, pitching his voice to be heard as far as underground.  “Stand and answer for your crimes!”

Silence.

Shiro waited several moments, tense and alert, but no sound came.  Not a vibration, not even a thud.

Out, then.  Or hiding, but hiding didn’t tend to be in a dragon’s arsenal.

Admittedly, ambush might be, and he approached the cave entrance at an angle in order to avoid any potential gouts of flame aimed in his direction.  Still, nothing moved, and Shiro finally peered around the edge of the cave, reaching into his pack and murmuring the words to activate his phial of starlight.

The pure, white light illuminated an empty cavern, twisting as it disappeared into darkness where the light couldn’t reach.  Lifting the phial in his left hand and reaching across his waist to draw his sword with his right, Shiro ventured forward.

The familiar sensation of the pommel of his sword in his metal hand was a comfort, and he began the trek into the shadows.  Quick eyes took in signs of habitation, and the multitude of clawed footprints, both fresh and old, confirmed that he had found the right place.

His ears strained for any sign of life, but heard nothing beyond the soft clanking of his armor.  That had its own set of potential problems: if no one was down here, then the dragon’s captive…

Shiro immediately stomped down on those thoughts.  He refused to play into the stereotypes that hounded the species: while he had been forced to slay several in his time—always in self-defense—he had met an equal amount of positively delightful dragons, and an even greater number whose “problems” with the local area were simply a result of misunderstandings that could be resolved with words instead of blades.

Admittedly, kidnapping a country’s prince tended to be a very notable misunderstanding, but stranger things had happened, and Shiro continued to hold faith.

_ There! _

Heart leaping in relief, Shiro spotted a set of footprints, human ones, veering off into a side corridor—and not leading out.  Quickening his step, he turned right—

And gasped softly.

Shiro had seen dragon’s hoards before, but the magnitude and variety of the treasure in each always left him breathless.  Here, the captured starlight in his phial reflected off of piles of gold coins, of jewels in every color imaginable, of suits of armor and a surprising amount of blades for a creature who wasn’t able to use them.  Shiro spotted everything from tiny throwing knives to a great claymore, so big that even he might have had trouble wielding it.  Several of them seemed so plain that, like his own, he suspected they  _ must _ be magic.

Or perhaps this dragon simply liked swords.  Who was he to judge a hobby?  Ones that didn’t involve kidnapping, of course.

Shiro spotted a multitude of other things as well: books, well-read and dog-eared, stacked with scrolls; tapestries, both hung on the walls and spread over haphazard piles; even bolts of plush fabrics, completely unused.  Really, the place was a disaster, but he wasn’t here to fuss at organizational habits.  Glancing down, he tore his attention away from the treasure to peer at the ground instead.

The footprints continued to one of the piles—then vanished.  Heart in his throat, Shiro stepped forward, crouching to inspect the area.

They didn’t simply disappear without a trace, he discovered—they seemed to have grown erratic, stepping here and there, mixed with dragon prints, possibly in a scuffle?  And they didn’t head out of the cave.

A quick look around revealed that there were really no hiding spots, so that left two options.  Either the human had been carried off, or…

Shiro swallowed, wishing the evidence weren’t beginning to point in this direction.

He turned and stepped over several small piles of gold coins, heading back towards the main passageway and leaving the treasure chamber.  Though he kept a careful watch for any further human footprints, he spotted nothing.  With too many side passageways to investigate thoroughly, he decided to continue and, if he reached the bottom with no luck, begin to investigate those passages as he made his way back upwards.

“Hello?”

The unfamiliar voice stopped Shiro in his tracks, and he lifted his head, eyes wide, ears straining.

“Is someone out there?  I heard you!  I can see your light!  That’s not dragon’s fire!”

Shiro twisted wildly, trying to determine the direction from which the call had come, but the acoustics of the cave made that difficult.

“Please!  I’m being held captive—my father is an emperor!  He’ll reward you handsomely if you free me!”

The left corridor looked like the most likely option, and Shiro started forward determinedly, sword ahead of him in the event of an ambush.

But the only sight that greeted him was a small cavern, with a crude set of bars blocking off a hollow set into one of the walls.  Inside it, Shiro spotted a slim form, hands curled around the bars as an intent pair of yellow eyes stared at Shiro.

Shiro had heard that Prince Lotor was half-fae, but he hadn’t known precisely what to expect.  After seeing his father, a stern, built man, but exceedingly average, the sight of the prince came as a slight surprise: long, white hair—which looked to be usually silky and well-kept but, due to current circumstances, much more mussed than usual—and pale purple skin, even in the dim light.  The eyes, of course, Shiro had already noticed, and the top of the man’s ears angled up into points.

Overall, a haughtily beautiful, almost cruel-looking individual.  But so very regal and handsome.  Swallowing down a flush—he frequently encountered attractive individuals in his line of work, and he couldn’t go around getting flustered by  _ all _ of them, even when they were so very much his type—Shiro bowed.

“Highness.  I’ve been sent to rescue you.”

Prince Lotor straightened, eyes widening, taking in Shiro’s form and the face revealed from underneath the lifted visor.  The white streak had been tied back in a bun, but the scar, his second most identifiable feature, was still visible.

“You’re Sir Shiro the Lionhearted!  Thank the gods.”  Lotor stepped back, watching him intently.  “Of course someone of such prestige would be the one to succeed in my rescue.”  The faintest flicker of a smile crossed his face, and Shiro glanced around.

“This… cell, does it have…?”

“Keys are over there.”  Lotor pointed, and Shiro wasted no time in retrieving them and freeing the prince.  As Lotor stepped out, Shiro bowed again, and when he rose, the prince was watching him with a slight smirk on his face.

Shiro swallowed, straightening.

“We should, ah, get you home, Highness.”

“Yes, yes of course.”  Lotor headed over to a wall where weaponry hung, picking up a spear and a knife; Shiro felt a little uncomfortable watching him help himself to the dragon’s treasure, but he supposed it wasn’t unreasonable for the prince to want to defend himself.  He tossed his hair over his shoulder, expression turning steely.  “Where did you end up slaying the dragon?”

Shiro just shook his head.  “I haven’t.”

There was a beat of several seconds before Lotor inhaled, eyes narrowing.  “You  _ haven’t? _ ”

Inclining his head respectfully—Shiro had also run into these types more often than he liked, who thought that everything always went the way it did in the stories—Shiro smiled faintly.  “No, Highness, not yet.  It appears he is out hunting at the moment, and my first priority was getting you to safety.  If he returns, I fully intend to protect you, and if not, I want you far away before I handle the problem.

Lotor pressed his lips together, turning away.  “I suppose.  The sooner it’s dead the better, but I appreciate your concern for my well-being.”  Shaking himself out briskly, he started for the main hallway.  “Come.”

Shiro didn’t move, reminding himself that patience was the best course of action in these situations.  “I believe it would be best for me to go first, Highness, in the event the dragon returns.”

Lotor paused, and Shiro caught the hesitation on his face before he stepped aside.  “Of course.  I defer to you.  You are, after all, the expert.”

Shiro laughed softly, pulling out his sword once again.  “You could say that.”

Lotor followed behind as Shiro led them both out; fortunately, the trip up seemed to be much shorter than the trip down.

“You’ve come with more than just armor and a weapon, yes?” Lotor asked, subtle anxiety threading his voice.  “You’re not just expecting to… is your sword magic?”

“Yes,” Shiro replied patiently, but didn’t elaborate.  He knew that while he looked the part of a typical knight, his armor and sword weren’t exactly breathtakingly impressive.  He preferred their practical appearance, but more than one person had found themselves skeptical of his abilities because of it.  “I haven’t earned my titles for nothing, you know.”

Lotor smiled tightly, then inclined.  “You are absolutely right, Sir Shiro.  I acquiesce to your expertise.”

Shiro felt his shoulders visibly relax.  Though he of course respected royalty, their reactions to becoming subordinate in situations like these tended to be… hit or miss.  It would have been difficult to face off against a dragon while carrying a kicking, screaming Prince Lotor over his shoulder.

He led the way, navigating through the tunnel until he spotted the opening of light that indicated the exit.

“Almost there,” he hissed, and the terse noise of acknowledgement from behind him was all Shiro needed to continue.

As they reached the mouth and stepped out into the shaded sunlight, Shiro felt himself exhale in relief.  No dragon in sight.

But something seemed… off.  As Shiro paused, Lotor bumping into him with a  _ clank _ , he wracked his brain for what it might be.

His eyes flicked to the phial in his hand, still lit, and then he realized: the shade was  _ much _ darker than it should have been at this time of day.

“Back!” he shouted, reaching behind himself to shove Lotor away into the relative safety of the cave.

And not a moment too soon: with a fierce roar that shook Shiro’s armor, an enormous dragon landed on the ground before him with a crash, a whirl of black and red.

Shiro stood his ground, quickly pocketing the phial and grabbing his sword with both hands.

“Dragon Kierveros of Galrath!” Shiro began—

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” Lotor yelped from behind him.  “Don’t bandy words!  Just kill it!”

Shiro was prevented from answering (fortunate, because his next words would have been a choice selection on how the prince could keep his mouth shut) by another roar as the furious dragon extended his wings and opened his jaw in a challenge, revealing fangs easily longer than Shiro’s hand.  Shiro braced himself for the telltale inhalation that meant a breath of fire, necessitating a strike, but none came.

“Thief!” the dragon spat, hissing a challenge.  “A thief in the company of thieves!  Here to steal from my hoard?”

Hope blossomed in Shiro’s chest.  A truce, then, might very well be possible.

“I am no thief,” he proclaimed, not lowering his sword, but not advancing forward, either.  “I am Sir Shiro, here to negotiate on the good faith of my name.”

He always felt awkward and a little guilty when he introduced himself to others; the name had power, but he hated the cocky sensation of introducing himself and simply taking it for granted that the other would know—

“Am I supposed to have heard of you?” the dragon spat, and Shiro froze, blinking.

Shiro wracked his brain for the name that most knew him by in this region.  “Sir Shiro Silverarm, the… Lionhearted.”

At the dragon’s blank stare, Shiro cleared his throat, heat rising to his cheeks.  “The Honest.  The Pure?  The Noble?  The Righteous, the Wise.”  Thought he didn’t feel it at the moment.  “The...”  He winced at the unchanging expression on the dragon’s face, trying to ignore his rising anxiety.  “…Beautiful.  You know what, never mind.”  He cleared his throat, shaking his head.  “Regardless, I am here to release the prince from captivity and obtain your word that you will not kidnap any further victims.”

“What is this?” Lotor hissed from behind him.  “Did you forget ‘the  _ Stupid _ ,’ too?  You’re going to get us both killed!”

Shiro ignored him as the dragon withdrew his wings, watched Shiro intently—

Then let out a bark of laughter.

“Kidnap?  I did no such thing!  Prince or no, this slimy snake tried to  _ steal _ from me!”

The words rang between them, and for a few brief moments, Shiro could feel the horror dawning over the true light of the situation.  Stealing from a dragon’s hoard was close to sacrilege, and the fact that Lotor was  _ alive _ after doing so spoke volumes of the dragon’s self-control.

“Wait,  _ what? _ ” he finally managed, turning to stare at Lotor in disbelief and betrayal.

The prince bristled in outrage, glaring haughtily at Shiro.

“This is  _ preposterous! _  My father does not suffer fools—if I had been trapped here of my own stupidity, he never would have sent you!  What need would I have to steal from a dragon’s hoard?  I have plenty of treasure in the vaults of my own castle.”

“You tell me,” the dragon muttered, but Shiro held up a hand in his direction.

“All of what you’ve said is true,” Shiro began levelly, suspicion beginning to niggle at his chest.  “But  _ did _ you?”

Lotor’s eyes flashed, and he straightened.  “Of course not!”

The heating of the sword’s hilt beneath Shiro’s gauntleted hand as the lie dropped from Lotor’s lips told Shiro all he needed to know.

Shiro sheathed the sword with a glare in Lotor’s direction—this had suddenly gotten  _ much _ more complicated—and turned back to the dragon, who had brought his wings in towards his body as he realized Shiro was no longer a threat.  Shiro bowed respectfully as the dragon watched, amused and disbelieving.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, Kei—”

“Watch out!”

Shiro jerked at the dragon’s warning, whirling, but Lotor had already stepped in, close enough to kiss when Shiro met his eyes, cold and impassive.

But instead of a kiss, Lotor slipped his arm forward, burying the knife in the gap between two plates of armor.

Shiro opened his mouth in anguish and shock as he stumbled, knees folding underneath him, but the pain shattered through him with such intensity that it left his lungs empty, unable to make even the smallest sound.

With a grunt and surprising strength, Lotor shoved Shiro forward, into Kierveros, leaving the dragon yanking back in surprise and hissing his anger.  Shiro slammed into a tree trunk-sized leg, gasping desperately for air but finding none.

The ground rushed up to meet him, slamming into his face unyieldingly, and Shiro gaped against the dirt, tiny pebbles digging into the skin of his cheek where his visor was open.  Somewhere in the distance, he could hear some sort of conflict, shouts and roars and screeches, but they all seemed to be dissolving into a fuzzy background noise as the pain closed icy tendrils over more and more of his body.

With a choking gasp, he reached down to fumble at the wound.  Even through the leather of his glove, he could feel the slippery wetness of blood, and as his strength failed him and his arm went limp, he felt his hand splash into a puddle in the dirt.

If he had bled out this much already, there was no way he could get somewhere to have the wound closed in time.  The injury was mortal.

Unless—Shiro’s ring might—but as he tried to lift his left hand, knowing he needed to tug off the gauntlet to reach it, his fingers barely moved.  Getting to it would be impossible.

He exhaled, closing his eyes, mind flitting frantically through options, discarding one after the other more quickly than the last, as his mind became more and more resistant to responding.  He had… never thought… this would be…

And then the dizziness grew too much to think, even with his eyes closed.

Somewhere in the distance, he felt a force knocking into him, rolling him onto his back, frantic scraping against his armor as it was wedged off, and then a wet, warm sensation running along the wound.

Was this what it was like to die?  A roaring sounded in his ears—

And then he felt nothing at all.


	2. Chapter 2

As Shiro woke, he immediately wished that he hadn’t.

The first action he allowed himself was a breath, to make sure he was still alive.  Turned out, the pain did that much already, and he wondered if he were about to pass out again.

But as memories began to filter back, he forced himself not to fall prey to the overwhelming lure of unconsciousness.

The rescue.  Lotor.  The stabbing.  The _dragon._

By all logic, Shiro should be dead.

He exhaled, screwing his eyes shut and taking stock of his situation.  Clothed, or at least in blankets, but unarmored.  No weapon, either.  His side still burned, the pain deep and throbbing, with each breath he took.

He grunted and reached behind himself, fumbling for the wound even as that intensified the pain.

With a gasp, his fingers met the crusted blood on the bandages, spread over the back of his side, right below his ribs.

A stiletto, then.  The only thing thin enough to slide between the links of his chainmail under his plate.  Judging by the pain settled deep inside him, higher than the entry, Prince Lotor had angled the blade upward and hit, among other important things, a lung.

But that meant…

Shiro opened his eyes with a grunt as he realized that the pain in his back wasn’t the only unpleasant sensation.  He immediately spotted the source of the stinging in his chest.

A dragon’s fang, snapped in half, the gleaming white of the tooth tapering down into a diameter barely the width of a small coin before the hollow tip of the point disappeared into his chest.

Either this dragon had a medic who lived with him, or he knew how to aspirate a human chest.  Things had certainly just grown much stranger.

He took an experimental breath, and though it ached, he managed, the blessed air filling his lungs.

He groaned, head thudding back onto the… pillow.  He was in a bed, in some sort of…

Glancing around, he spotted a source of faint illumination: a small, round globe, clearly magical in nature, set on top of a polished wooden bedside table.  His eyes slid from that to the wall, stone but not hewn or worked.  They followed it up into darkness, then roved around to spot more of the same.

Still in the mountain, then.  And at the mercy of a dragon.

Albeit, one who had clearly cared for him and, he realized, as he spotted his pack on the floor next to the bed, left him his supplies.  He automatically tried to push himself in its direction.

A pained gasp escaped his lips, an audible underscoring of how poor an idea that had just been.

He flopped back down again, glaring up at the darkness that cloaked the ceiling.

A sharp pain dug into the back of his skull, and he winced, lifting his flesh arm; the left, apparently, would perpetually be his good side.  His fingers found the ribbon, still tied tightly, around his hair, and he fumbled for it and pulled, letting his hair tumble free.  The pressure around the upper half of his head vanished, and he began to take stock of his situation.

Now that his shock at the pain had passed, the thirst crept up on him.  That, and dull hunger, but the thirst was far worse.  His throat, dry and sticky closed in on itself.  He needed that flask.

Maybe if he rolled gently…

Nope, no.  Very much no.  Bad idea.  He grimaced and huffed.  He _needed_ that flask.

He was feeling around for something long and solid that he might be able to hook under the straps of the pack when he heard the rasp of scales on stone.

His first instinct was to sit up, to turn towards the sound, to do _something_ , but any of those ideas were, in general, terrible.  So he resigned himself to lying back on the pillows, waiting.

The set of wooden doors to the left of the headboard bumped open, and Shiro twisted his head to see a dragon snout poking through, sniffing around tentatively, before the full length of the head stretched in and peered around.

“Oh, good.  You’re awake.”

Shiro blinked slowly as the dragon slunk in, form large enough to barely make it through the doors, but managing nonetheless.  Now that he wasn’t having to keep an eye out for spontaneous fire breath—or, at least, couldn’t do anything about it if it came—he took the moment to take in the full splendor of the dragon.

As Kierveros passed the globe, Shiro could see the glint of a purple sheen on what he had initially thought to be only black scales, but as he passed the glare, the purple dissipated, leaving only black behind.  The darker scales covered the top half of his body, perhaps even a bit more, as well as the outside of his legs.  But his lower jaw was a vibrant red, ranging in shades from carmine to garnet, and the brilliant streak ran down the lower half, covering his underbelly and peeking out from between the legs.  The majority of his wings seemed to be the same shade of red, though folded in as they were, Shiro couldn’t get a particularly good look.  Black spikes crested on his head and trailed down his spine, all the way to the tip of his tail.  In all, he seemed to be about the height of two horses and the length of four, plus the extra height of his head and neck and length of his tail.

It made the once-spacious room suddenly feel very crowded.

“Yes,” Shiro croaked, watching him carefully.

“The shitstain escaped.  I would’ve eaten him, but he got me with a spear.”  Kierveros grunted, smoke exhaling from his nostrils, and Shiro had never seen a dragon’s features arrange themselves into an expression resembling sulky before.  A first time for everything.

“I appreciate the effort,” Shiro finally said, trying to force a smile to his face.  His mind immediately began to race, peppering himself with questions: why had Prince Lotor done what he had done?  Had Emperor Zarkon known, when he had sent Shiro in for the rescue?  And why had Lotor tried to kill Shiro?

And he would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for, presumably, Kierveros.

“And… I’m sorry for letting the Prince out,” he said quietly, voice cracking.  “I didn’t know what he’d done.”

Kierveros snorted, smoke trailing out again, but he lifted a shoulder in a dragon shrug.  “You knightly types are too trusting.  I guess I can’t be that mad, since it’s who you are.”

He shuffled closer, peering at Shiro’s shirtless chest, and Shiro went very still, not even taking a breath.

A huff, a snap of teeth, and Shiro’s eyes went very, very wide.  But instead of a bite, Kierveros simply caught the fang between his teeth and pulled.

Shiro let out a yelp as it tugged free, a yanking pain that only made the soreness worse, but then it was gone, and he could still breathe.  Blood oozed out of the small wound, but it was preferable to dying.

“Your fang?” he finally managed to ask weakly, still trying to smile.

Kierveros opened his mouth, displaying an impressive set of teeth, and Shiro watched as a new set of curved fangs extended from the top of his jaw—or, rather, half of a set.  The right seemed to be missing.

“You needed something hollow,” he said matter-of-factly.  “Was the only thing I had.  It’ll grow back.”

“How did you know…?”

“I read,” the dragon answered promptly, as if expecting the question.

Shiro blinked slowly.  He had to admit, that hadn’t been the answer he’d expected.  “And… the venom…?”

“Fire clears it out.”

“Ah.  Thank you,” he said as politely as possible.  He hesitated, the dragon’s deep purple eyes… unsettling, to say the least.  “I… will you please hand me my pack?”  He gestured weakly in its direction.  “I’m… very thirsty.”

Already midway through picking up the pack with two delicate claws when Shiro said this, Kierveros froze, eyes wide, then tossed the pack on the bed.  It landed on Shiro’s shoulder—blessedly not on his wounded side, but he let out an _oof_ anyway—and Kierveros did an impressive roundabout, scampering back through the open door before Shiro could so much ask where he was going.

Shaking his head, he shook the flask.  Weak as the motions were, it took a little longer than usual for the magic to take hold, but he was eventually able to tip the mouth back into his own, and the refreshingly cool water left his parched throat singing in relief, even if the angle sent small rivulets streaming down the sides of his cheeks.

Once he finished, he capped the flask, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relish in the sensation of not being murderously thirsty.

The scale-shuffle distracted him again, and as he turned, his eyes widened.

A barrel rolled between the doors, and then Kierveros’s snout appeared behind it, nudging it along.

Once inside, however, the dragon had to pause to work himself through the door without damaging his wings, and the barrel continued to roll down the length of the room, finally hitting the wall with a _thud._

Shiro watched in fascination as, with a grunt of annoyance, Kierveros finally managed to wriggle through the opening and scamper off after the barrel.  After a few unsuccessful attempts at pawing it away from the wall, Kierveros sat, looking remarkably like a cat, and reached out with both claws to grasp delicately around the barrel and lift it clumsily into the air.

Shiro had to cover his mouth with both hands.  With an awkward waddle on his hind legs, tail extended for balance, Kierveros shuffled back over to Shiro’s bedside, setting the barrel down upright, the culmination of the uncontested most adorable sequence of actions Shiro had ever seen.

Kierveros popped the top off of the barrel with a claw, then turned towards Shiro.  “…I should have gotten you a cup.”

“No!”  Shiro reached out an arm.  “Don’t trouble yourself, please.  I’ll fill my flask in a moment.  But thank you.”

Kierveros scraped his claws against the floor of the cavern.  “You’re welcome.”

Shiro just smiled faintly over at him.  Not wanting to open his flask and reveal that the dragon’s trouble had all been for naught, he opted for conversation again.

“So, Kierveros—”

“—of Galrath.”

Shiro blinked at the interruption.  “I’m sorry?”

“My name is Kierveros of Galrath.  You were about to get it wrong.”

Shiro frowned slightly, not having heard any difference in the pronunciation, but trying again anyway.  “Kierveros.”

“No, no.”  Kierveros snorted, small tongues of flame escaping his nose.  “Kierveros _of_ _Galrath._ ”

Shiro winced slightly at the mouthful.  “You… use the entire thing, all the time?”

“Of course,” Kierveros of Galrath replied promptly.  “Don’t you?”

Shiro let out a small laugh of disbelief.  “Of course not.  You don’t think I expect people to remember _my_ entire—”

“Sir Shiro Silverarm, the Lionhearted, the Honest, the Pure, the Noble, the Righteous, the Wise, the B—”

“All right, all right.”  Shiro waved his hands weakly to end the speech before it got any more embarrassing.  But he continued, “I understand.  But Shiro isn’t even my full name.  It’s Shirogane Takashi.”

The dragon blinked again.  “So, Sir Shirogane Takashi Silverarm, the Lionhearted, the Honest, the—”

“No!  No, that’s not what I meant.”  He let out another disbelieving laugh.  Were all dragons like this, or was it just this one?  He had never spent personal time in the company of one.  “My point is that I frequently request that others call me Sir Shiro, or Shiro, as it’s shorter.  And it’s an indication of familiarity.  Of… friendliness.”  Deciding to take a chance, he finally continued, “And I’d like you to call me Shiro.”

Kierveros of Galrath sat on his rear with a thump, watching Shiro, fascinated, and—Shiro hoped—flattered.

“Shiro,” the dragon said slowly, as if tasting it on his tongue.  Then he grinned a wide, toothy, dragon grin.  “I like it.  I want one.”

“Want… one… one what?  A Shiro?  You want me?”  His voice raised in pitch at the alarming possibilities of what that might entail.

“No, no.”  Kierveros of Galrath shook his head dismissively.  “One of those other names.  The shorter ones.  That I can give you, so we can be friendly.”

That… had certainly not been the direction Shiro had expected this conversation to go.  “Alll right,” he finally managed to say.  “What about… Kier?”

The claws scraped against the ground again, and the dragon tilted his head from side to side, considering, but eventually shook his head.  “No.  I want it to have both parts of my name.”

“All right, then.”  Shiro frowned slightly, truly thinking now.  “Kierath?  Kierverath?”  The dragon didn’t seem particularly interested.  “Kiergal?”

Shiro was quickly learning, with the face the dragon made, that the range of draconian expressions was much wider than he had ever thought.  “All right, not Kiergal.  Kierth?”  The dragon perked up slightly, and Shiro continued hopefully.  “Keith?”

“That!”  The dragon declared, eyes lighting up.  “Keith.  I like that.  It rhymes with teeth.”

Keith grinned, showing his, and Shiro tried not to look nervous.

“So.  Shiro.”  Keith did an odd, small wiggle, almost like a dance of excitement.  “What were you going to say?”

Shiro frowned, then comprehension dawned.  “Oh!  Right, yes.  I was going to ask about Prince Lotor.”  Shiro shot him an apologetic look as Keith’s smile faded.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  But I want to find out why he did what he did.  If there’s some kind of… plot going on, he could cause more trouble.”

Keith straightened, looking as if he wanted to ruffle his scales.  “Why he did what he did?  It’s because he’s a filthy thief.”

“I… well, yes, but that’s not…”  He sighed.  “Usually, people have a reason for stealing things.  Not necessarily good ones,” he amended quickly at Keith’s sidelong look.  “But it can… be a sign of a deeper problem.  Wanting to be rich, for example.  Or not having money, desperation, but obviously, as a Prince, he doesn’t have that excuse.  And he’s… his greed is clear, but he also spoke true when he said that he had no need to steal from your hoard.  Even with that greed, the danger he put himself in doesn’t… make sense.”

“Then if he’s as rich as you say, why was he stealing from my hoard?” Keith replied, irritated.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”  Shiro sighed, staring up at the darkness.  “…Do you know what he was trying to steal?”

“Spear,” he said distantly.  “Something… huh.  Spear of… Larnora, I think it was.  Fucker got away with it, too.”

A cold chill iced down Shiro’s spine, a stark contrast to the heat of the room.

“You… you had the Spear of _Marmora_ in your hoard?” he whispered.

“Marmora!  Yeah, that’s the one.  I thought it looked cool.  I got it, uh…”  Keith made that scratching noise on the stone with his talons again.  “I… found it.”

“Of course you did,” Shiro said, voice faint.  “Keith, do you know what that spear does?”

“…Stab people?”

“I—well, yes, but—Keith, the Spear severs the connection of any magical creature to its magic.  Not immediately, and not completely, but it makes a dragon much, much easier to kill.  It went missing hundreds of years ago.  It’s legendary.”

Keith was silent for several long moments.  “…Oh.”

Shiro exhaled.  And Lotor had escaped with it.  “He… used it to get away, didn’t he?”

Keith hunched his shoulders, smoke trailing from his nose.  Instead of an answer, he stretched his wing out slightly.

His left wing extended to show a ragged hole, dried blood crusted around the edges, about as big around as Shiro’s fist.

“Oh,” Shiro murmured, chest twisting in guilt.  “I’m sorry.”

Keith grunted.  “It’ll heal.”

“I… here, let me see it?”

Keith shot him a glance, but shuffled, extending the wing over Shiro’s torso, resting it there gently.

Up close, the extended batlike appendage astounded him with its delicateness.  Though the leathery webbing was that same carmine, the skeletal structure between it was a deep black.

Fumbling through his pack, he pulled out a cloth that he kept just for this purpose.  Unwrapping it from its waxy paper covering, he dipped the clean cloth in the open barrel, barely able to reach, and then dabbed it to the wound.

Keith grunted.  “Hurts.”

“I know,” Shiro murmured, gently clearing away the dried blood and dirt.  “Just try to stay still for me.”

Aside from very slight twitching, Keith did remarkably well.

“There’s much less blood here than I expected, even for a clean strike,” Shiro remarked, nearly complete.

“Oh, I licked it closed.”  Keith shrugged, and Shiro blinked.

“What?”

“Dragon saliva.  It clots, and cleans, and—ow!”

“Sorry!” Shiro cried out.  “Sorry, I’m done.  Just… just a moment.

He reached, once again, into his pack, pulling out a corked glass bottle.  Precious as the liquid might be, Keith needed it more right now.

“Is that what you did for me?” Shiro asked quietly, mind drifting back to the memories of the moments after his stabbing as he poured a little liquid onto the damp cloth.  “Stopped the bleeding with your tongue?”  The absurdity wasn’t lost on him, but at the moment, he was too grateful to be alive to complain.  “I thought I was going to die.”

“Yeah.”  Keith huffed.  “I mean, you _tried_ to help, and I couldn’t exactly go after him with my wing fucked up, so—oh, that’s _nice_ ,” Keith practically purred as Shiro dabbed the ointment into the wound.  “What is that?”

“Pain reliever.”  Shiro smiled over at him, pleased.

“That’s really nice.”  Keith withdrew his wing when Shiro finished.  “I should probably look at your side, too.”

“You’re welcome to try, but I can’t actually move that— _ngh!_ ”  Shiro groaned in pain as Keith reached out a claw and deftly rolled him over onto his stomach.  Painful, but done with such swiftness and a gentleness that it caused no real harm.  “Ow.  Okay.  So we’re doing this,” Shiro muttered, face pressed into the pillow.

He shivered at the cool air as Keith drew back the blanket.  “How’s it looking?”

“Think it’s healing pretty well.”  A claw gently snipped away the bandage.  “I’ll change this.  You might even be walking around in a week or so.”

Shiro yelped in alarm, bracing himself to push up out of the bed.  “A _week?_  Absolutely not!  I need to get back to the kingdom _now_ and find out what they’re planning!”

Keith snorted, and it took just one claw—the back of it, fortunately—to keep Shiro from rising.  He struggled weakly for a few moments, but then realized there was no way to win this.  He sagged with a frustrated sigh.

“Don’t be an idiot.”  Keith’s voice was entirely unsympathetic.  “You can’t even walk like this, let alone climb back down.  You’d die.”

Shiro let out an annoyed noise, closing his eyes, but when he made no further moves to rise, the curve of the claw withdrew.

“Maybe if you flew—”

The claw pressed down again, and Shiro winced as he remembered.  “Right.  Your wing.  I’m sorry.”

“That, and can you imagine the panic if I flew into whatever kingdom you came from?  The kingdom that wanted you to kill me?”

Shiro simply sighed.  “Point.”

“Good.”  The pressure lifted once more.  “I’m going to lick this again, to keep infection from setting in.”

Shiro tried not to laugh, both because it would have hurt like hell and offended his host.  Instead, he turned his head away to hide his grin.  “By all means.”

As the smooth, wet warmth slid across his skin, however, his grin immediately vanished.

Clotting properties, yes, and preventing infection; both useful things that Keith had mentioned.  What Keith had _not_ mentioned, and what Shiro had missed due to the minor inconvenience of being nearly dead, was the remarkable sensation that it left sparking across his skin, down to his bones.

It left him oddly euphoric, almost intoxicatingly so, and for a moment, he felt like he could do anything.  The pain vanished, and a spike of pure pleasure rolled through him.  With a gasp, he arched slightly into the touch, the pain fading to almost nonexistence, replaced by… something else.

“Lucky humans,” Keith muttered from somewhere behind him.  “Always makes _you_ feel great, but we don’t get that perk.”

“Mmm,” Shiro managed to get out, voice strangled, as he stared intently at the far wall, barely able to make out the stone in the darkness.

The pleasure coalesced in the pit of his stomach, then slid lower, and Shiro suddenly felt _incredibly_ grateful that he was on his stomach as unexpected arousal curled within him.

“So, it does… other things, too?” Shiro asked weakly, unsure if this was intentional or an accident—and also unsure which would be worse.

“It varies, depending on the person and their sensitivity to magic.  But it’s usually at least nice.  Why?”

At the dragon’s arch tone, Shiro turned his head to face him again, trying not to flush.  “Oh, no reason, just…  I was surprised, is all.”

A shrug, and Keith tilted his head, eyeing him, a vague interest in those purple eyes.  Shiro did his best to keep his expression neutral.

"Right.  Have you ever packed a wound before?  With my injury, I can't shapeshift."

Shiro stiffened at the thought, then cringed, eyes screwing shut as he bit back a curse.  It made sense, but he didn’t want to be the one to have to _do_ it.  “Yes.  I have.”

It was an unpleasant and painful process, slow and involving a heated and sterilized stiletto, but Shiro eventually finished, the wound properly cared for.  To his private dismay (at least, he thought it was dismay), Keith gave it another lick before they replaced the bandage.

“Good job.  Let me know if you need anything else.”

Despite how much he usually tried to give the other person in a conversation the benefit of the doubt, that tone was _far_ too innocent for comfort.

“Food would be nice,” he said, trying not to sound aggrieved.

“Food it is,” Keith replied, and Shiro wouldn’t consider himself an expert on draconic expressions, but as he wandered off, he looked _remarkably_ smug.

Shiro groaned, reaching down to yank the blanket back up, and buried his face in the pillow, drawing on every ounce of self-control he had not to grind forward into the bed.

* * *

 

 

_Art by[Yoshirueme](http://yoshirueme.tumblr.com/post/167065492407/my-contribution-to-the-shiro-big-bang-by)_


	3. Chapter 3

It was another day before Shiro could sit up in bed.

At least, he thought it was a day: he slept so much that two could have passed, he supposed, and there was no way to tell time in the darkness of the cavern.  But judging from his stomach and its demands, it had been two, maybe three days since the botched rescue.

“Where do you get all of this food?” Shiro asked around a mouthful of warm bread, nutty and brown and coated with jam.  “It’s  _ wonderful. _  Do you bake?”  Shiro wondered if asking  _ how _ Keith baked would be considered too rude.

But Keith shook his head.  “I have a cauldron.  I just use that.”

“A ca—”  Shiro’s mind raced, then his eyes widened.  “Not a cauldron of plenty?”

Keith huffed.  “Why are you always so surprised to learn things are in my hoard?”

Shiro shot him a chastising look back.  “How am  _ I _ supposed to know what fantastic things you have stored away?  Do  _ you _ even know?”  When he didn’t get an answer, he continued, “Do you even have any idea how rare they are?”

“Not nearly enough.  It never gives me my meat raw.”

Shiro squinted at him, trying to ascertain if that was a pun, but Keith seemed to be, against all odds, completely serious.  “So you don’t even use it?”

Keith simply shrugged, and Shiro sighed, shaking his head.  If Keith would let him, later, he would have to see if there were any other treasures that could be bargained for.

He reached up to his neck, touching the pendant there, then lifted it so Keith could see: a pearlescent cylinder, about the width of two fingers, the length the same.

“This is part of a unicorn’s horn.  It was a gift, an extraordinary one, and while I have nothing but gratitude for it, its enchantment still isn’t as powerful as the one on your cauldron.  To give you an idea, three separate people have tried to kill me after finding out about it.”

Keith watched, eyes wide, as Shiro let it fall to his bare chest.  “What does it do?”

“It protects me from poisoned food, and ensures that I’ll never go hungry, through whatever means.  It’s saved my life multiple times.  But it can’t create food on command, the way a cauldron does.”

“Interesting,” Keith murmured, eyes fixed on the pendant and, consequently, Shiro’s bare chest.  Shiro tried to push down the embarrassment he usually felt when others did so, telling himself that Keith was a dragon.  This meant nothing.  There was no reason for this to be about… physical appreciation.

But then again, after that comment the other day, Shiro couldn’t be sure.

“How do you know about how to aspirate a lung, but not about unicorn horns?” Shiro asked, doing his best to distract himself.  The intensity in Keith’s eyes was… unnerving.

As was the annoyed look he shot Shiro.  “It’s not like I get to  _ choose _ the books I end up with my claws on.  I just have to take what I can get.”

Shiro frowned slightly.  “What do you mean, you don’t get to choose?  How do you get your… claws on books, anyway?”

Keith grunted and looked away.  Shiro opened his mouth to press, but Keith beat him to it.

“Where did you get it, then?  The unicorn horn.”  Keith sat on his haunches and looked, once again, like a fascinated cat.  “A gift, you said?”

“Yes, from a glory of unicorns themselves.  I did them a service—a group of evil men was hunting them—and they granted me this token, in gratitude and in remembrance of their fallen.”

“And do you do that often?  Go around providing… services?”

The tone in Keith’s voice raised a niggling sensation of suspicion, but when Shiro shot him a sidelong look, the draconic expression seemed innocent enough.  “Something like that, yes.  At times, those who are able will pay me for those services.  Those who aren’t may give me some gift, though I don’t require anything, and make sure that anyone I help knows that.”  He smiled faintly.  “And sometimes, the smallest gifts are the best gifts.”  He gestured to his hair, the length tied back to reveal the shaved underside, a necessity to keep cool whenever Keith was in the cavern.  “These ribbons are gifts from the children I help.  Once, an injured gnome, who I assisted by safely returning him home, enchanted my boots to always be comfortable.”  He nodded over at the pair in a corner: supple leather, well-worn, but well-loved.  “Honestly, I’d have to say that one is my favorite.”

He paused at Keith’s expression, somewhere between confused and amused.  “What?”

“Are you even real?”

Shiro opened his mouth, blinked, then tilted his head.  “Excuse me?”

“Helping children?  Lost gnomes?  Sparks, no wonder you have all of those ridiculous names.”

Shiro straightened, frowning slightly at the implication.  “They’re not  _ ridiculous _ .”

“They kind of are.  Who calls themselves ‘the Righteous’?  I mean, look, if we’re going to open up about the name things—”

“I don’t call myself ‘the Righteous’!” Shiro sputtered, heat flaming up to his cheeks.  “People keep  _ giving _ me the names!  My full name is Shirogane Takashi.  That’s it.”  He made a slashing gesture for emphasis.  “I’ve been knighted, so that makes me a ‘Sir,’ and sometimes, when I do things, people will decide to start calling me, oh, the ‘Good’ or the ‘Virtuous’ or—I don’t  _ ask _ for it!” he finished, voice helpless.

Keith let out a snort of what had to be laughter.  “Fine.  But then, you still earn it.  Which is why I was asking if you were even real.  You actually care about helping the helpless, doing good deeds, fighting for the just, even when it could get you killed—”

“Of course I do!”

“But no one really does that.  Not genuinely, or consistently.”

Shiro could feel himself bristling, and he scowled.  “That’s  _ not _ true.  Is it really that unbelievable that I want to help others?  There’s so much bad in the world; can’t I want to even it out with a little bit of good?”

Keith huffed.  “No, I can believe it.  And that’s probably the weirdest thing.  You’re just one of a kind.”

Shiro sighed and settled back into the pillows, shifting slightly to prop his chin on his arm, his elbow on his thigh.  “You really don’t think there’s anyone else in the world that would do that?” he asked softly.  The thought left him heavy, and he found himself wondering what could have caused Keith to think that.  What he had been through that had so convinced him of the world’s inherent badness?

Keith stretched his neck out, resting his head on the bed, taking up about the space of a large dog as it nudged up against Shiro’s thigh.  “That can’t possibly be a real question.  Most people would have killed me the moment I showed up and been done with it.”

Shiro’s chest twisted, and he reached out to gently pat the scales on Keith’s nose, warm and smooth.  Despite himself, he knew that Keith… wasn’t inherently wrong.  He struggled for something to say.  Invalidating the fear would do no good, but neither would encouraging the thought.

“I mean,” he finally managed, voice soft, “I suppose I could have tried.  But you’re underestimating yourself if you think I could have done that so easily.  If anyone could.”

Keith’s eye flicked up towards Shiro in surprise, and Shiro watched in fascination as he blinked, then nosed harder into Shiro’s thigh, angling and twisting his head in what seemed like it might be an attempt to hide.

“What are you doing?” he laughed, and Keith’s huff spread a cloud of warmth against Shiro’s leg.

“Nothing,” he muttered, and Shiro could only grin, reaching out to pet the spot beside the crest on Keith’s head.

Shiro hummed as Keith leaned into the contact.  “I think… that I have to try to be better, to make the world better.  True, there are undoubtedly those who  _ do _ evil things, such as Lotor.  I imagine his father, Zarkon—who sent me—may very well be, if he knows of his son’s nature.  There are those giants and dragons who pillage and murder, or gryphons who snatch children up as meals.  There  _ is  _ evil in the world, but that doesn’t make everyone terrible.  I’ve also met men who would give up the last shirt on their back to someone who needed it, giants who risk their lives defending kingdoms from invaders, dragons who guard traveling routes from bandits, gryphons who use their eyesight to help find lost younglings.   _ Those  _ are the ones that I want to emulate.   _ That _ behavior is what I want to try to spread.  And I believe that, with enough help, anyone who wants to can do it.”

Keith was silent for several moments, and Shiro simply continued to run his fingers along the scales, scratching gently under his jaw, and earning himself a pleased rumble for his trouble.

“You really are too good to be true,” Keith finally murmured.  “You still think that?  Even though it almost got you killed?”

“But it didn’t,” Shiro reminded him.  “Because you saved me.  Which is, I’d say, a result of kindness and compassion.”

“I can’t tell if you’re nice or just stupid.  Or both.”

“You know,” Shiro mused, “I get that a lot.  But what would the not-stupid decision there have been?  Fighting you, I think, which also may very well have gotten me killed.  And in this case, having faith in you and insisting on negotiating before fighting has alerted me to something sinister going on that  _ needs _ to be stopped.  The next time someone asks me for something similar, I’ll be watching out for any more dirty tricks.  Cautious that the errand might not have good intentions.  It would be stupid if I hadn’t learned, but I very much have.  Naïvely trusting isn’t even kind, I’d say.   _ That _ would simply be stupidity.”

“I… guess you have a point,” Keith grumbled into Shiro’s leg.  Shiro simply hummed and kept scratching.

“…Although,” Shiro continued after a few moments, arm stilling, the guilt in his stomach threading its way into his voice, “my sword  _ is _ enchanted to warn me if the speaker is saying something they believe is untrue.  Provided my hand is on the hilt.”

Though Shiro expected a snide remark or lecture on his deception, leading Keith to believe that Shiro had supported him on faith instead of hard knowledge, Keith just let out a smug, “Hah!”

“That makes me feel so much better.  You have no idea.  Don’t stop, by the way.  Keep your muscles from atrophying.”

Not bothering to hide his smile, Shiro resumed scratching at Keith’s jaw.  “Is that so?”

“Yeah.  I was kind of worried that you would end up trusting the wrong person or something, but this at least means that you won’t get yourself killed.”

Shiro’s smile grew.  “I’m flattered that you’re so concerned.”

“Well, it  _ would _ be a huge waste.”

Shiro actually laughed at that, delighted.  “What do you mean?”

Keith buried his face deeper in the crook between the mattress and Shiro’s thigh, refusing to answer despite Shiro’s cajoling.  He eventually gave up, settling back onto the bed and continuing his ministrations to Keith’s head.

Until it shot up into the air, eyes wide, sending Shiro reeling back with a shock that nearly reopened his wound and stopped his heart alike.

“Badgerheart!”

“What?” Shiro asked, voice faint, hand over his chest.

“You’re Badgerheart.  Sir Shiro the Badgerhearted.  I  _ have _ heard of you!”

At the name, one he hadn’t heard in quite some time, he nodded.  “I… yes, that’s me.  Why?”

“I just realized is all.”  Keith nodded firmly, posture relaxing.  “I wondered about where that came from, when I first heard the name.  Is it because of your hair?”

Shiro laughed nervously, reaching up to touch where the long white streak had been tied back into a tail.  “I think that’s it, yes.  It was… I think it was meant as an insult, actually.  The courtiers were very rude,” he mused idly, but then shrugged.  “Anyway, I told them that it would be an honor to be associated with such a fierce, protective animal.  It spread like wildfire, and became a semi-official title.”

“Badgerheart,” Keith replied thoughtfully.  “I like it.”

“I’m glad I have your seal of approval.”  Shiro watched Keith lay his head down again, an amused smile on his face.  “So how did you get your name, then?  Where is Galrath?  I’ve traveled a lot, but never heard of it.”

“Nowhere,” Keith murmured, not sounding concerned in the slightest.  “I made it up.”

Shiro choked slightly on a laugh, reaching out to scratch again.  “You made up an entire place?”

“I mean, it’s not a place, just a name.  I thought it sounded dignified.”  Keith ruffled his wings, nestling in deeper.  “I was reading a series of histories, a long time ago, and all of the heroes had names like that.  ‘Of Altea.’  ‘Of Mindoir.’  I wanted one.”

“Of course you did.”  Shiro’s cheeks ached from grinning.

“Mmmm,” Keith hummed, eyes fluttering closed.  “Still… think... Shiro sounds nicest, though,” he murmured.

Before Shiro could think of a reply, Keith let out a soft snore.  With a fond chuckle, Shiro reached over to the pile of books Keith had brought him, chose one on astronomy, and began to read.


	4. Chapter 4

“Careful!”

Keith’s voice startled Shiro more than the actual instance of his knee giving way, just for a moment, and he nearly fell.  He reached out frantically, fingers slipping on Keith’s scales, and it took a quick save of Keith wrapping his tail around Shiro’s thighs to steady him.

Shiro’s feet scrambled and managed to get a hold on the rocky bottom of the cavern floor.  “I’m okay.  You can let go.”

The tail slowly uncurled and slid away, and Shiro steadied himself on Keith’s side.  When he glanced over, Keith was watching him, those large, vibrant, purple eyes soft with concern.  Shiro offered him a tired smile, smoothing his hand down Keith’s shoulder.

“I’m all right.  Just… after not walking for a week, it’ll take me a bit to get used to it again.”  He waved his right arm, the mithril of the prosthetic gleaming in the low light.  “It could be so much worse.”

Keith’s neck twisted, and Shiro had to laugh as his snout nosed gently into Shiro’s hair, then snorted, a warm breath of air ruffling it.  “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”  Shiro took another step forward, focusing intently on the cushions at the end of the cavern.  “Just a little further.”

After a few more, he managed to let go of Keith, finally walking on his own, much as his legs wanted to mutiny.  But he’d been through far worse before, and as he took the last several steps to his goal, he let out a crow of triumph, then collapsed into the nest of cushions.

“That was… terrible,” Shiro panted, leaning back.  “But I told you I could do it.”

“You did.”  Keith settled down into a sitting position, tucking his legs underneath and his tail around himself so he resembled a loaf of dragonbread.  “Just… like I said, be careful.  The sooner you get better, the sooner we can go find that little—”

“Keith,” Shiro admonished.  “Please, language.”

Keith snorted, hunkering down further.  “Well, it’s true.  You don’t have to defend him.”

Shiro straightened slightly, turning to frown at Keith.  “I am not defending him!  He  _ stabbed _ me!”

“Well, you thought he was cute!”

Shiro choked, staring at Keith for a few moments, openmouthed, before he managed to find words.

“I… that… what… why would you even think that?”

Keith shot him a knowing glance from one narrowed eye.  “It was hard to miss, with the way your scent was all… attracted to him.  Ugh.”

“That’s—preposterous,” Shiro sputtered, frown deepening as his cheeks heated.  The prince had been half-fae, after all; they were known for being notoriously beautiful, so it wasn’t as if he could have  _ helped _ himself.  He wasn’t blind, after all.  And it wasn’t as if his “attraction” had lasted beyond a few minutes, anyway.  And certainly not beyond the stabbing.

“That’s just what he said, right before you called him out for lying.  Also, you’re blushing.”

Shiro lifted his hands to clap them over his cheeks, glaring at Keith.  “I have absolutely  _ zero _ interest in Prince Lotor, I assure you, beyond bringing him to justice.”

“Then stop telling me not to call him filthy names!”

Shiro rolled his eyes, looking away and lowering his arms.  “Besides, what does a dragon know about human attraction, anyway?”

“Plenty!”  Keith scoffed.  “I’ve  _ had _ human lovers before.”

Shiro’s head whipped around so quickly that his neck cracked.  “You’ve  _ what? _ ”

Keith simply blinked at him slowly.  “I’ve… had human lovers.  Surely you’re not surprised to hear that.”

Shiro hesitated before answering.  Interspecies relations weren’t exceptionally rare, but neither were they common enough that Shiro simply took for granted that every sentient non-human had participated in one.  “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“So, then I take it you’ve never had a dragon lover before,” Keith replied, voice matter-of-fact, and Shiro felt his face heat once again.

“No.”  Shiro rubbed the back of his neck.  “I’ve… actually never…”

“Never what?  Been with someone who wasn’t a human?  You need to spread out a bit.”

“Been with anyone at  _ all _ ,” Shiro shot back with a glare.  “It’s never been a priority.  I have too many other things to worry about.”

He steeled himself for the defense, too used to this being treated as a point of mockery or condescension.  He wasn’t ashamed of it, and if Keith made a comment, Shiro was ready to—

“Do you want to?  Hypothetically.  I know some people just aren’t interested.”

There was no suggestion in the question, just friendly interest, and Shiro cleared his throat, doing his best to push out the spontaneously generating thoughts about Keith’s tongue.  “Someday, I imagine.  Just… like I said, I’ve been busy.”

"Well, if you'd ever like to try, I wouldn't mind at all.  But you'll have to wait until I'm healed before I can transform back into human shape, if that's what you were after.  Most of them preferred me as a dragon, though," he finished, musing distractedly.

“That’s—quite all right, thanks!” Shiro sputtered.  A perverse part of him nearly reared its head to ask exactly how the act worked, but he shut that down quickly.

“Fine.”  Keith twisted away from Shiro, examining the wall.  Shiro watched as he nosed through the book cases there, curled his lips back from his teeth, and delicately took a volume between them.

Shiro watched, eyes wide, as Keith’s neck swung back around, depositing the book in Shiro’s lap.  He lifted it to see barely an indent from the teeth in the leather cover.

Glancing over at Keith, he couldn’t suppress a small shiver at the sight of those fangs.  They gleamed white in the well-lit cavern, long and sharp.  Keith could easily surge forward and end Shiro’s life with a snap, at any moment.

But he didn’t.

Really, Shiro couldn’t decide how being utterly at another being’s mercy made him feel.  He should dislike it, but… knowing that he was safe, even when Keith could so easily tear him apart without a second thought?

It was nice.

As Shiro’s eyes slid along the elegant curve of Keith’s back and neck, he caught himself wondering if Keith’s human lovers had found it appealing, too.  Shiro had been in fights for his life before; they often left him feeling more alive, when he was through, and the sensation struck a similar chord in his chest.  The sinewy muscle and wicked teeth left him with a lingering sensation of fear and, more notable, excitement.

Shiro shook off the thoughts.  It was none of his business, after all.  “Is this what you want me to read?”

Keith nodded.  “There are some stories with knights in it.  I thought you might like it.”

Shiro glanced down at the title of the book and smiled faintly.   _ Tales of the Heavens. _  He had never read it, but a quick flick through confirmed what the embossed stars on the cover suggested: a collection of stories based on the legends of constellations.  As Keith’s wound left him unable to shapeshift into a human, making it difficult to read, Shiro had volunteered to be his hands and keep up the habit.  He usually enjoyed Keith’s choices, but this was the first time Keith had happened to select something so closely aligned with Shiro’s interests.

“I love the stars,” he murmured, lips curving up even more.

He heard a small noise off to the side, and when he looked up, the corners around Keith’s eyes had crinkled, the lids lowering into a soft expression.  “I’m glad.”

Shiro cleared his throat, cheeks heating slightly as he returned his attention to the book, opening the cover and admiring the illustrations, all beautifully gilded images of stars.

He turned the page to find that the first was a poignant tragedy he knew well, and he began to read.

Though the prose was a bit old-fashioned, overall, the author did a good job of telling the tale of a king of an ancient, long-lost race of fae, the last of his kind.  He wished to preserve the ways of his people, and so created a kingdom of humans and taught them how to rule wisely.  He then departed, returning every few centuries, when the kingdom was in dire need of assistance.  But one day, he returned to find that his once-peaceful kingdom had been taken over by a usurper who had imprisoned the rightful prince and ruled with a cruel hand.

The kingdom had been thrown into such upheaval that its people had even forgotten what the fae king looked like.  Quickly branded a malcontent and a traitor, he was forced to flee, and was taken in by a group of rebels fighting to free the prince and restore him to the throne.  Hiding his identity, he used his magicks to free the prince, who then gathered his army to march on the capital and take the throne.

Shiro paused here, much as he loved the story, to glance at Keith out of the corner of his eye.  Keith watched back, enraptured, neck so upright that it nearly quivered with anticipation.

Shiro grinned, ducking his head and continuing to read.

The king revealed his identity at last, and the prince attempted to kneel and offer the crown.  But the fae king refused, as he knew that an immortal should never rule a mortal race.  But he did accept the prince’s second offering: a kiss, as they had fallen in love.

The prince, now a king in his own right, ruled for many years, his fae lover by his side, never ruling, always advising.  But the day did come when the human king passed on.  Such was the depth of the fae’s mourning, that the gods honored their love and elevated his beloved to a place among the stars.

“But that’s terrible!” Keith burst out when Shiro finished.  “Who wants to lose the person you love?  There are ways to  _ make _ mortals long-lived!  Why didn’t he just use one of those?”

Shiro had to suppress a smile; he felt more than a little guilty for how adorable he found the distraught expression on Keith’s face.  “I’m not sure.  It’s a very old story, and who knows what parts are true, if any of it.  And you have to admit, it’s very romantic.”

“No I don’t!” Keith snapped, eyes narrowing.  “I don’t have to admit anything.  Pfft.  Humans.”

Shiro just shook his head, still amused.  “There’s a part that they didn’t mention, what happened to the fae king after—”

Keith’s attention snapped back to him so quickly that Shiro jumped.  “Why?  What happened?”

“Well,” Shiro stalled, flipping quickly through the book to make sure he wasn’t going to be spoiling a future story, and once he saw no mention of it, he continued.  “The part I’ve always heard was that decades later, the fae king gave his life in defense of his kingdom, and when he did, he earned his place in the stars, too.  Always watching over the earth with his beloved.”

Keith seemed to think about this for a few moments, as if evaluating the acceptability of this answer.  For a breath, Shiro thought the protesting might begin again.

But then Keith nodded with a heavy sigh.  “I guess.  It’s better than nothing.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Shiro laughed softly, reaching out to stroke the scales on Keith’s neck.  Keith leaned into it, eyeing Shiro while still angling for the best scratches.

“Will you show me that constellation sometime?”

Shiro straightened a few scales, earning himself a pleased groan.  “Of course.”

Keith hummed.  “Another?”

Shiro pulled away, flipping through the book for a certain story, and grinned when he found it.  “This one is my favorite.”

The favorite in question turned out to be a tale of two lovers, engaged to be married, when one was stolen away by fierce pirates.  The other risked everything to sail off to rescue him, and upon doing so, stole away onto a ship that sailed the stars.  The pirates followed, and now the two constellations chased each other over the horizon, year after year, the two lovers staying ever ahead of their pursuers.

Keith approved of that, so Shiro continued with another, this one of a young servant who dreamed of a bigger life, only to be found and told he was destined to be king of the heavens.  Shiro had just gotten to the part about the emissary who brought the news, a were-panther, when Keith interrupted.

“Hang on, no.  I know this story.  She was a dragon.”

Shiro leaned back to peer at Keith.  “No, he’s definitely a were-panther—”

“No, no, you’re wrong.”  Keith pushed himself to his feet.  “She was a dragon trapped in human form, running from those who had cursed her, and bringing him to his rightful place on the throne was her only hope—”

Shiro waved the book in Keith’s face.  “I have it right—hey!”

A large snout wedged between Shiro’s arm and his side.  “Let me see.”

The two tussled gently for a few moments, but Shiro eventually opened the pages for Keith to read to his satisfaction.

Keith’s claws clicked against the ground as he scrutinized the story.  It very clearly said “were-panther,” but Keith grunted, annoyed.

“That’s the constellation.  But they  _ obviously _ got the story wrong.”

Shiro just laughed softly, running a hand down Keith’s neck as Keith settled down, this time wrapped around Shiro.

Then, on an impulse, he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Keith’s snout.

Keith turned slightly, too close to face him directly without bumping heads, but did fix him with one purple eye.  “What was that for?”

“Nothing.”  With a final pat, Shiro turned back to the book, leaned back into Keith’s warm form, and continued to read.


	5. Chapter 5

Though Shiro’s wound continued to heal, the depth of it meant that the packing had to be changed out, a process that Shiro dreaded, once a week.  At the end of the third week, as Shiro discarded the strips of cloth, an examination determined that it had healed enough to allow it to heal naturally the rest of the way.

“Thank the stars,” Shiro breathed in relief as Keith opened his jaw and shot a gleeful jet of flame at the dirty pile of rags.  “If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.”

Keith cocked his head, eyes narrowing confusedly.  “But if it doesn’t happen—”

“Don’t worry about it.”  Shiro extended his hand, and Keith swung his neck over to butt his head into it for petting.

But Keith eventually pulled back.  “Ready?”

And now came the second part that Shiro always dreaded—for very different reasons.

“Ready,” Shiro sighed, slowly rolling onto his stomach and steeling himself.

The familiar warmth of that infernal tongue spread through every bit of him, all the way down to his toes and… other parts.

Shiro had accused him once of taking his sweet time with his ministrations.  Keith had innocently replied that he only wanted to ensure that Shiro received thorough care.

So, the slow torment continued.

Shiro exhaled, doing his best to steel his body against its natural reaction.  It wasn’t very successful.  With a groan, he buried his face in his pillow.

At long last, the caress ceased, and Shiro peered over out of the corner of his eye, only to see Keith watching him intently.  Though Shiro would never say no to company, at the moment, he would have appreciated a little privacy to handle his problem, just like Keith usually offered.

He was wracking his brain for a way to politely ask for it when Keith sat.

“Do you want some help with that?”

Shiro stared for a moment, the words sending a heat flaming through his cheeks, intensifying the ache between his legs.  He shifted slowly, pushing himself into a sitting position.  Surely Keith couldn’t have meant what Shiro thought he did.  After all, hadn’t Keith said that the effect was different on dragons?

“Do… do you know what you’re offering?” Shiro croaked, casually crossing his arms and leaning down onto his thighs, hunching as if he were resting, but really just trying to… preserve his privacy.

One violet eye rolled to fix its stare on Shiro, and Shiro had to consciously fight the instinct to wilt under the exasperated gaze.

“I know  _ exactly _ what I’m offering.  I’m good at it, too.”

As if to emphasize his point, Keith’s tongue flicked out to slide up Shiro’s side once again.  The contact left Shiro shivering, and he let out a small groan.

Shiro had privately always resented the fact that his moniker of “the Pure” always seemed to lead people to believe that he had never done anything like this before.  Admittedly, he hadn’t, but to have that assumed based on his presumed “purity” left a foul taste in his mouth.  As he had told Keith, he had just always been busy.  He had never particularly found anyone he had wanted to… partake with, but…

He wasn’t particularly busy now.  And when he thought about Keith in particular…

He  _ had  _ said that he’d had experience.  And Shiro couldn’t believe that he would hold it over him, or tease him too terribly afterward.

“What…” he finally managed to croak.  “What do you need me to do?”

Keith’s eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, and Shiro swallowed, watching him cautiously, hesitantly uncrossing his arms, shoulders still hunched.

“Lean back a little?  You’ll need to slide your pants off.”  Keith offered him a wicked grin.  “Unless you want me to shred them.”

_ That _ thought sent whatever blood might have been left in his body rushing straight downward.

“N-no,” he finally managed to choke.  “No, I can… yeah.”

Exhaling, he tugged the string on his breeches, letting them fall open.  As he leaned back, he slid them down his hips, closing his eyes and feeling his face burn as his aching erection slipped free.  He braced his elbows on the bed, propping himself half-up.

Warm breath ghosted across his skin as the smooth scales of Keith’s snout nudged up Shiro’s stomach, rucking up his shirt.  Shiro couldn’t resist opening his eyes, and he met Keith’s, intently focused on him.

Keith had opened his mouth, and time seemed to freeze around him.  The long, white teeth reached nearly the length of Shiro’s hand, and as the heat of Keith’s breath grew closer, the heady smell of burning wood wrapping around Shiro’s head, another jolt of need surged through him.

“Your teeth are huge,” Shiro breathed, taut as a bowstring, wondering if the slightest touch would leave him quivering.

Keith only made a quiet noise of assent, eyes flicking up towards Shiro in what might have been satisfaction.

And then Keith’s tongue darted out, thin and snakelike, wrapping around Shiro’s cock, and he shouted.

At the most innocuous of times, the tongue left a steady heat flushing through the entirety of Shiro’s body, stirring a curl of need in the depths of his stomach, coaxing him to ask for more, whatever it might take to earn it.  Right now, with it wrapped filthily around Shiro’s leaking erection, squeezing at an excruciatingly slow pace, Shiro’s vision wavered.  Keith’s breath heated the insides of Shiro’s thighs, his abdomen, his  _ ass _ , and he finally managed to kick the rest of his breeches free.

His thighs spread involuntarily as Keith moved in closer, sliding the tongue up, then down the length of his erection.  The fork at the tip flicked over to the tip of Shiro’s cock, teasing at the head and slit, and the gentle squeeze right as he did so sparked an overwhelming wave of pleasure through what felt like his entire body.  True to his predictions, he could feel his entire body begin to shake, and after a brief struggle with his shoulders to stay upright, he succumbed to the weakness, collapsing back onto the bed with a gasp.

The ridges from Keith’s tongue slid up the sensitive, delicate skin of Shiro’s cock, and Shiro threw his head back into the pillow, fingers fisting in the sheets.  His hips arched up involuntarily, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a dull pain, the pull of his wound.  But right now, none of that mattered.

“Fuck!” Shiro gasped, panting for breath.

Keith stilled for a moment at that, staring, and Shiro managed to lift his head to shoot a weak glare at him for stopping.  It would be just like Keith to pause and make some sort of commentary on Shiro’s—

And then the tongue tightened, and Shiro let out another cry, head falling back again as he arched helplessly into the overwhelming warmth.  It tugged, demanding more from Shiro, and he didn’t know what it was that Keith wanted, but he gave all that he could.  With a whimper, he sank into the pleasure, legs falling further open as his mind began to cloud over.

His only regret, and a fleeting one at that, was that Keith couldn’t come closer, that he couldn’t reach up and pull him in and—

A flicker of movement from above him, and Shiro gasped, tilting his head forward to see Keith’s jaw, still open, leaning forward.  Obsidian scales glimmered in the light as those brilliant, shining teeth rested gently on the tops of Shiro’s thighs, gently pressed down, and dragged forward.

The fangs didn’t  _ hurt _ , not precisely, but the sharp sensation ghosted between the line of painful and not as they scraped down across his legs.  Shiro yelped again as the pressure on both skin and cock increased, that line beginning to blur even further, and as a strangled sob escaped his lips, he could vaguely feel the sensation of cloth tearing underneath his mithril hand.

Keith tugged again, continuing to tease at the slit until Shiro didn’t know how to handle the sensation anymore.  Keith pressed in harder, just a tiny bit, sliding back up, opening his jaw wider to scrape up Shiro’s abdomen as well.  The heat grew closer as the points pressed against his stomach, then chest, and the thoughts flitted wildly through Shiro’s mind that Keith could  _ kill _ him right now, could bite him in half or swallow him whole, but he didn’t, and that impeccable control, the undeniable safety, left him trembling harder.  And then the tongue on his cock squeezed—

With a sob, shaking violently, the pleasure crested, slamming into Shiro with a force that left his vision white.

It couldn’t have been more than a few moments, but the climax seemed simultaneously to last an eternity and to be over in an instant.  He sagged as every muscle in his body seemed to rebel, leaving him limp and boneless and utterly sated.

He dimly felt the tongue uncurl from around him, shivering at the sudden coolness when Keith withdrew.  All he managed was a small groan, and he simply exhaled, eyes closed, drifting in the bliss of post-orgasm.

A warm presence nudged into the side of Shiro’s legs, and he vaguely realized that Keith was probably nosing him onto the bed.  He felt himself sliding, turning, and then figured he was probably at a reasonable angle.  Still, he didn’t move.

After a bit—a minute?  Several minutes?  Shiro wasn’t sure—the bed dipped next to him, and he finally managed to crack an eye open and turn it in the direction of the motion.

“Are you dead?” Keith asked in a low, rumbly voice, and Shiro wasn’t too tired to miss the undercurrent of amusement.

“Only a little,” Shiro murmured, lips curving up in a tired smile.

"As long as it's not a lot," Keith hummed, eyelids lowering slightly in the expression of trust that Shiro had grown so fond of.  With a tired hum, Shiro reached out to pat his nose.  "Didn't really want to hurt you."

"It was fantastic, don't worry."  Shiro smiled back at him, shifting so that he was in a more comfortable position as he came back to his senses.  "I wasn't expecting... any of that, really."  With a faint flush—likely all of the free blood he had left in his body—he thought back to the way the teeth had pressed against his skin, so close to danger.  "But you weren't lying when you said you were good at it.  That was..."  He trailed off, eyes unfocusing as the memories returned with a little more detail.  "...You did things I didn't even know I would like."

"Well, the only way to find out what you like is to try it more," Keith replied, and Shiro focused on him again, the innocent expression in those violet eyes telling him all he needed to know.

"I'm sure it is."  He couldn't keep the wry note out of his voice, and as his limbs decided to work again, he pushed himself up, just a little.

Keith had nudged him forward so he was at least fully on the bed, but he was still lying there, naked from the waist down, shirt rucked up, and feeling a little ridiculous.  He hadn't made a mess, at least; the evidence of his orgasm had presumably been swallowed down that massive throat—if Keith had even noticed.

His breeches were on the floor, too much trouble to retrieve, so he settled for pulling himself up to the head of the bed instead, laying his head on the pillow, and tugging the sheet up to his waist.

This, of course, earned him an irritated noise from Keith, and Shiro turned, blinking slowly over at him.  He had lifted his head, staring down at Shiro in disapproval.

"What?"  Shiro tugged the sheet up a little further, suddenly very self-conscious.

"I finally get your clothes off and you go and cover up," Keith muttered, eyeing the entire situation with obvious disdain.  "You could take your shirt off, at least."

Shiro's earlier assumption about the only free blood left in his body quickly proved to be incorrect as he felt the heat on his cheeks deepen.  Still, he tried to conceal a smile; no need to let Keith know how much the compliment had startled him.  Usually, those sorts of comments came alongside uncomfortable objectification, but from Keith… it seemed different.

"Well," Shiro sighed in a faux put-upon voice.  "I  _ suppose _ I could, if you really, really wanted..."

Keith lowered his head to the bed again, and Shiro had to cover his mouth briefly at the pleading expression.  "I really,  _ really _ do.  You might be a human, but you're gorgeous."

Shiro couldn't hide his grin any longer, not with the giddy somersaults his stomach was doing.  "I'm not sure if I should pretend to be insulted," he teased, "but I'll take mercy on you this time."  With his flesh arm, he reached down, clasped the hem, and with some squirming, drew the the shirt over his head.

Keith immediately snatched it up with his teeth, tossing it into a corner, and Shiro had to laugh.  Keith quickly returned, nuzzling into Shiro, tongue flicking out to offer him tiny dragon-kisses on his shoulder, neck, and cheek.

(Shiro learned, to his relief, that its arousing properties apparently did not work during a refractory period; that, or a larger amount was needed to affect him.  Either way, he appreciated the break.)

"You really are," Keith murmured, nuzzling at his chest.  "Like I said, I've had human lovers before, but... wow.  Maybe I should've been looking for knights all along."

"You knave," Shiro laughed, pushing at Keith's snout without any real force.  "I knew you were after my virtue."

"Trust me, I think that part's stuck with you," Keith replied, voice dry, as he finally stilled the nudging.  "Sorry, nothing I can do about that."

Shiro only hummed, reaching out to scratch underneath Keith's jaw, and Keith hummed, pleased, eyes drifting closed.

And then they opened again, fixing on Shiro's right shoulder.

Shiro could feel his hand still, the cartwheels in his stomach slowing, then stopping.  He knew what Keith could see, and he tried to settle the nagging sensation that this was about to take a turn in a less pleasant direction.  Keith was a dragon, after all; he might find Shiro attractive, but that didn't mean that he held to all standards of human beauty.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to look in the same direction as Keith.

A series of gashes, five of them, nasty and thick and deep, dragged from the top of Shiro's shoulder down to where his mithril arm began.  The scar tissue had healed years ago, but it, as well as where the dwarven smith had magically fused it to the mangled remnants of his arm, still made a plenty unpleasant sight.  The pink, twisted pickering cut through his dark olive skin, and though the scars were the worst of the lot, they certainly weren't the only ones.

Keith's gaze roved over those as well: though the one across Shiro's nose hadn't even earned a batting of an eyelash, the one that slashed under his ribs prompted a pause, as did the very obvious bite mark, clearly from something large (though not as large as a dragon) on his flank.  A smattering of others littered his torso and arm (and thighs, which were thankfully now hidden), but Keith didn't seem to spend too long on any of those, instead returning to fix his gaze on Shiro's right shoulder.

And then, he leaned in, closing his eyes, bumping it gently with his nose and giving it a small lick of comfort.  The tightness in Shiro's chest began to loosen.

"What happened?"

Shiro exhaled for several moments.  Another reason why he had avoided taking lovers; he generally preferred not to share this story.  And of course the story came up whenever anyone saw him with little to no clothing.

But this was Keith.  Though they had only spent the past few weeks in each other’s* company, the only time Shiro realized was when he truly thought about it.  It felt so much... longer.

Perhaps it was the fact that they were the only two beings in the caves, so they spent so much time around each other—but either way, Shiro had just put himself inside the jaws of death for Keith, and he didn't regret it in the slightest.

So he took a deep breath.


	6. Chapter 6

"I was sixteen, and I was going to save the world."

Shiro hadn't shared the story in a very long time; he couldn't remember when—or even if—he had told the entire thing to anyone.  But the memories still returned, fresh even over a decade later.

"I was incredibly close to earning my shield.  One of the youngest knights in my kingdom's history, but my skill spoke for itself.  Still, there were those who protested.  Who said that at my age, I wasn't ready, not for the hardships that I would face.  Skilled, yes, but mature enough?  No."  Shiro sighed.  "But really, who would have been?

"I was determined to prove myself.  I wish I could say that it was only out of a desire to help others, and... if I'm going to give myself even a little credit, I can admit that was at least part of it.  But I was young, and proud, and I wanted to show anyone who said otherwise that I was ready for this.  That I could take on anything that came at me, no matter how terrible.

"I heard tell of a witch who lived in the mountains of another kingdom, who commanded the powers of winter and who would plague the land with storms of ice if the kingdom refused to offer her a bounty each year.  She grew more and more demanding, wanting it all—money, jewels, servants who were sent to her fortress and were never seen again.  The king had tried to send spies in to have her assassinated, but they went the same way as the servants.  Worse, possibly.  I never found out.  I remember there being some sort of reward, I think, but that wasn't why I went.  I wanted to defeat her, wanted to free a kingdom from her clutches.  I begged my way into a few enchanted items, and I left."

A small snort from beside him, and Shiro glanced over, smiling bitterly.  "I know.  I was an idiot.  You don't have to say it."

Keith only shrugged, and Shiro continued.

"I made it to the witch's fortress, eventually.  It was nearing midsummer, but that forsaken place... it would have frozen me if I hadn't worn fur under my armor, and even then, I nearly lost a few toes."  He wiggled them, remembering how he had managed to take refuge in caves as he traversed the snowy terrain, nursing his digits back to health before continuing on again.  "But I was determined to get through the storm.  Perhaps that's why I managed to surprise her: no one else had apparently been stupid enough to head for her castle directly.  There was  _ apparently _ a system of caverns that connected the area that most people used; I have no doubt that she had every inch of those trapped and patrolled, though.  In this case, my stupidity worked to my advantage.  Temporarily, at least.

"I made it to her castle.  I found the servants, even—she kept them in the dungeons when she wasn't using them, of course.  Very typical unpleasant place to be.  When I freed them, they told me that the witch had a workroom where she kept a focus for her power.  Destroying that would greatly weaken her magic, and free the land from her curse.  I, of course, went immediately in search of it."

"Let me guess, it was a trap?"

Shiro laughed a little hollowly.  "No, actually.  It might have been... easier to bear, if it had been.  My victory was quick and anticlimactic.  I shattered the focus, the storms stopped, and presumably the kingdom went back to normal."

"Presumably?"

Shiro managed a crooked smile.  "Well, she caught me right after."

Keith's shoulders hunched in a movement that, if he had had fur, would have left it rising on his back.  "Oh."

"Yes.  Oh."  Shiro sighed.  "The dagger I had borrowed was effective against magical things, and I had used that to destroy the focus.  But a young sixteen-year-old had no chance against an angry, powerful witch, even if her focus had just been destroyed.  I put up a fight, but it lasted... I don't know.  Thirty seconds, if I'm being generous.  The last thing I remember was a jet of ice blue speeding towards me, hitting me in the head, and then just... I was so very, very cold."

Involuntarily, he lifted his hand to his forehead at the memory; even now, he remembered the excruciating pain that had preceded his blackout, and he ran his fingers through the white forelock that fell into his eyes.

Keith leaned forward, nudging it gently with his nose.  "Is that how this...?"

Shiro just nodded.  "Yes.  Though I... didn't realize it, not for a while."  He sighed, moving his hand to run it along Keith's jaw.  "When I woke, I learned that she hadn't killed me.  I was confused as to why, at first, but as I began to take in my surroundings, I began to understand.  After all, when I was there, death... it would have been welcome.

"She had sold me to a tribe of goblins.  What she got for me, I have no idea.  It doesn't matter, I suppose.  They... collect other beings.  Humans, elves, rival goblins and orcs, even gryphons and unicorns.  I met a dragon, while I was there.  But they have their entire underground kingdom, and... stars, it's hell."  He closed his eyes, steeling himself to continue.  Keith rested his head next to Shiro's, a comforting presence.

"They kept us for entertainment.  We fought each other, for them, in huge arenas.  We fought, or we died.  I... I didn't want to, of course, but I wasn't the first one to try to refuse, to try and let myself die anyway.  But they have insurance for that.  I suppose they figured that if we thought ourselves too... too 'good' for the fighting, or above it, we would quickly change our tune when children were brought in and threatened to be slaughtered as an alternative.  I couldn't... but none of us could, really.  Better for us to fight each other, to kill, then to let..."

Something seemed to have stopped his throat, and he couldn't speak.  He couldn't tell Keith what it had been like, in those gladiator pits, to see the haunted eyes of children, the shining blades at their throats, as he was offered his choice of a sword or spear to face the equally terrified young elf across from him.

He hadn't known her name, but he remembered her face.  He remembered all of them, in agonizing, excruciating detail.

"It's all right," came the murmur from beside him, a breath of warmth on his side.  "You don't have to keep going."

The words pulled him out of his daze, and Shiro shook himself, then nodded.  "Thank you.  That was the next few years of my life.  I... two, maybe three?  Time seems to pass differently down there.  I don't know if it actually does, or if it was simply the situation.  I got to know others down there.  Some of them survived.  Some of them didn't."  He swallowed, steeling himself.  "Some of them I killed myself.  But so many times, the stories they told me—the goblins had taken them for their amusement, and they'd gotten away with it because no one cared.  No one would miss them.  The small, the poor, the weak—they didn't last long, not in the gladiator pits, but I think that was part of the appeal."  His mouth twisted.  "That idealistic sixteen-year-old, he almost died down there.  But meeting them kept me going.  The only thing that got me through was the thought that I would get free someday, that I would put a stop to evils like this, that I would help those who needed it most, instead of those who could pay the best.  I swore to myself, if I ever got out alive, that I would dedicate my life to doing just that."

"And you did," Keith murmured, voice barely a whisper.

Shiro nodded.  "I did.  But not for some time.  I lost the arm in the arena."  He lifted it slightly.  "A gryphon—mad, I think, with some sort of poison or magic or something.  Those eyes..."  He shuddered.  "There was no sanity in them.  She latched on with her claw, and I had lost my sword, and she  _ bit _ , and..."

Shiro still remembered the pain like it was yesterday.

"I thought I was going to die.  But it actually distracted her—a meal, I suppose or sated bloodlust, or something that could be torn apart while she lost interest in me.  But I found the sword, and I made it out in the end.  Still, I didn't think I was going to last.  They bandaged me, but I wasn't pulled out again.  They might have been planning on letting me rot, or perhaps throwing me out again for entertainment at some point to die, or sending me off to the work camps.  Thank the stars I never got to find out."

Keith lifted his head again, looking hopeful, even behind the sadness in his expression.  "Rescue?"

Shiro nodded, reliving the relief that had bubbled up in his chest when his cell door had been thrown open, an orc declaring triumphantly that he was free.  That they had invaded the city, slain the leader, and scattered the entire army.  "The Marmora tribe of orcs."

"Like the spear!"

Shiro nodded.  "Like the spear.  They are... legendary.  I know many think they're a myth, but I met them myself.  The atrocities of these goblins had grown terrible, and the Marmora Orcs had sacrificed many in their fight to clean them from the caverns.  They freed us all, saw to it that we were taken care of, returning those to their homes who they could and assisting those who they couldn't.  My rescuer brought us to the dwarves, where one of them fashioned this arm for me."  Though the experience had been excruciatingly painful, Shiro still remembered the kindness of the dwarf, huge and beardless and proud of that fact, young and excited to have the challenge of constructing such a complex mechanism.  "I repaid them, of course, worked off my debt—even though they insisted I owed nothing, I couldn’t accept that—with great deeds, gaining a name for myself in the meantime."  He laughed softly, but then it faded.  "The first name they ever gave me was 'the Good.'  I remember receiving it and... I wanted to be so proud.  But all I could think of was the things I had done to survive.  To get to where I was.  And... I swore, then, that even if I didn't deserve it, I would strive to, with everything I had."

There was more, of course, to his life, to everything.  All of his deeds, all of his adventures, were connected in some way, but that was resolution enough to that story.

"I'm sorry," Keith said, voice quiet, almost meek.  "That's... that sounds terrible, but I'm glad that you were able to come out of it like this.  I'm glad that you're alive.  And that it led you here."

Then, as if embarrassed, he buried the top half of his face in the crook between Shiro's body and the bed.  Shiro only laughed, running a hand up Keith's neck.  “So am I.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Stars, this is the biggest mess I’ve seen in my entire life!”

Despite Shiro’s laughter, Keith shot him an injured look, as if Shiro had insulted him personally.  Given what Shiro had gathered of Keith’s relationship with his hoard, Shiro might very well have—but Shiro had earned his title of “the Honest” for a reason.

“I… this isn’t  _ that _ bad.”  Keith’s claws scraped against the stone floor of the cave in a motion that Shiro had long since learned indicated that Keith knew he was in the wrong, but didn’t want to admit it.  “I’ve been… cleaning.  Sometimes.”

“Uh huh.”  Shiro nudged a foot through a pile of gem-encrusted goblets.  “You know, these all have dents in them.  Gold doesn’t do well when it’s just tossed around.”

“I don’t toss, either!  Just… sometimes things fall.”

“A lot of things fall, apparently.”  He lifted one of the goblets and grinned over at Keith.  “You might just do better to have them melted down — ”

“No!” Keith yelped, outraged, glaring in protest.

It had been worth a shot, but Shiro hadn’t held out much hope, anyway.  “Then you should at least consider getting them repaired.  You’ve put so much time and effort into your collection.  You must be proud of it, right?” Shiro wheedled.

“Yes,” Keith replied, voice vaguely suspicious.  Shiro ignored it and began to set the goblets on some shelf space he had cleared for just this purpose.

“So you should make sure to take care of it,” Shiro finished firmly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keith’s head droop, just a little.  Still, Shiro didn’t turn, wanting to avoid seeming  _ too _ harsh.  “…Yeah.  Point.”

Shiro exhaled through his nose, taking in the sight of the shelf.  Though it had helped, to get this much off the floor, there was still so much more to be done. Even what he had managed to sort through was a horrendous hodgepodge of mismatched treasure-trash that Shiro had absolutely no idea what use Keith might have for most of it.

But then again, he was beginning to put together a picture in his mind of what he had gleaned from Keith’s words of how, exactly, he tended to acquire things, and the mess grew steadily less surprising.  Though Keith protested that he would never steal anything that was owned by someone, Shiro had learned that Keith’s definition of “owned” tended to… differ from the standard.  Anything  _ unowned _ seemed to be fair game, even if someone happened to be… bathing in a stream nearby where a satchel hung from a tree.

But he would deal with that issue when they actually left the cave together.

“So,” Shiro continued, back to wheedling, “you could maybe hire someone to help you get things in order.  You wouldn’t have to worry about affording it, not with how much you have stored up.”

“But that’s what I have  _ you _ for.”

Shiro paused, then he did turn, the slight crease of a frown between his eyebrows.  The idea had occurred to him, in passing, but he had quickly dismissed it as an irrational fear fostered by unfair specist stereotypes.  Still, the wording unnerved him, just a bit.

“I’m not something to collect, Keith,” he began carefully.  “I don’t mind helping, but as a… a friend, not a captive.”

Keith’s eyes went wide, but with panic, not anger.  Shiro fully intended, when this was over, to demand a gold coin from anyone who told him “dragons all have nasty and unpredictable tempers” ever again.

“That’s not what I meant!” he protested.  “I wasn’t expecting—I’m sorry, I was just… since you’re here, and I don’t trust people, but you would never take anything—”

“Hey, hey,” Shiro soothed, twisting to face him.  “I know you— _ ah! _ ”

The cry from his lips was as unexpected as the stabbing pain that accompanied it, and Shiro immediately sat, hard.

He looked up and nearly leaped backwards at the very close sight of Keith’s face in front of him, nosing gently at Shiro.  Hand shaking slightly, he reached out to pat Keith comfortingly on the nose.

“I’m all right,” Shiro murmured, doing his best to find that settled spot inside himself and will away the pain.  “Just pushed myself too hard.  I just need a moment.”

“Shiro…” Keith murmured, nuzzling into his hair.  The worry in his voice shot another stab of pain through Shiro, though of an entirely different sort.  “I shouldn’t have asked so much of you.”

Shiro shifted to scoot a small distance over onto a pile of cushions, then relaxed into them with a sigh.  Arms suddenly weary, he slowly extended them in Keith’s direction, and earned a dragon’s head in his lap for his trouble.

“No, no,” he murmured back, voice tired but certain.  "You didn’t ask for anything.  I offered, and I overworked myself.  I’m the only one responsible for this.”

Keith only rumbled disapprovingly, so Shiro focused on what he could control.  Reaching towards Keith’s neck, he plucked at an uneven scale, straightening it into place.  His fingers found another and did the same, then another, and it was only a few more moments before the disapproving rumble turned into something Shiro could only describe as a purr.

The pain faded slowly, along with the tension in the air, and Shiro continued to straighten the scales without any words.  Though Keith was initially reluctant to move his head from Shiro's lap, the promise of further grooming proved to be enough of an incentive to do so, and Shiro had made it all the way down to his foreleg, Keith flopped on the ground, before they spoke again.

"You know, I've noticed that your collection of knives seems to be the best curated.  Not that everything isn't wonderful, of course," Shiro quickly added, though the gleam of purple out of a slitted eye told him that Keith wasn't buying the acquiescence at all.  Shiro simply grinned unrepentantly.  "Is there a reason for that?  You don't exactly need them, right?  You've got plenty of natural defenses, and most enchantments I've seen on weaponry only work for individuals who have some form of human lineage.  So even if you were in human form..."

"I don't spend much time in it, no."  Keith hummed, voice almost slurred with contentment.  "That's not it.  I... I dunno.  I just really like them.  They're... reliable, when you make them right.  Sturdy.  Shiny.  And... really, really beautiful."

The eye opened and focused on Shiro once again, though this time its expression was much softer.  Shiro offered Keith a shy smile, feeling his skin prickle, just a little.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah."  Keith hummed, eyes not moving.  "I guess I really like things that can be deadly but are still beautiful."

Shiro tried not to gasp at the words, managing only a soft, sharp inhale.  The best poetry was the unscripted type, wasn't it.  He ducked his head, glancing down for a moment, rolling around the warm feeling in his chest before lifting his eyes again to meet Keith's.

"I guess we're the same, then," he said, voice as warm as his face.

Keith rumbled and closed his eyes again, scooting forward a bit more as Shiro moved from straightening scales to scratching at that sweet spot on his wings.  "And your sword is really cool too."  Shiro froze, teetering on the edge of mortified, but Keith clarified as he continued.  "Even without the enchantment, I know good work when I see it.  But—"

At this, Keith twisted, one eye snapping open and fixing Shiro with a judgmental stare.  "Your armor?  Who the  _ fuck _ climbs a goddamn cliff, in the desert, with  _ full plate armor? _ "

Shiro poked at a tender spot on Keith's wing, hard enough to be obnoxious but not hard enough to hurt.  "I thought I might have to fight a  _ dragon _ , Keith.  I didn't know what I would find.  If you had intended on eating me, I would at least have wanted to give you indigestion on the way down."

Keith scoffed indignantly, and Shiro had to hide a grin as smoke trickled from his nostrils.  "Don't you have something to hold it in?  You carry plenty around; why not that?"

"Because plate armor is  _ huge. _  I can't fit that into a normal satchel, and even if it were the only thing I had brought, it still wouldn't have fit.  I'd need a void pocket to fit anything of that size."

"Well why don't you have one of those?"

"They're ridiculously rare and hard to find."  Shiro had found an individual selling one, once, but he would have had to have sold everything he owned for even a shot at haggling for it.

"I'm sure you could find one if you really tried.  Unless no one ever owns one."

"Yes, I have met others with them, but unlike some people, I don't go around stealing everything I want that I see," Shiro shot back, voice impish, grin no longer hidden as he poked at Keith's wing again.

Keith's head shot up as it whirled in Shiro's direction, expression once again indignant, but Shiro leaned back, hand flying over to brace itself on the wound in his side even as he grinned mischievously.

"Can't retaliate against a wounded guy!" he chastised, not even the least bit sorry.

Keith's eyes narrowed again, but Shiro didn't have the faintest bit of concern as he watched Keith back, expression still unapologetically innocent.

Eventually, Keith's shoulders hunched, and he braced his claws into the ground, using them to lever himself over in Shiro's direction as the scales of his ribs scraped across the floor.  It only took a few moments before Shiro found himself confronted with the very large, black rump of a very sulky dragon.

"Scratch here," Keith ordered, and after a few heartbeats of nothing, amended it with a reticent, "...please."

"Absolutely," Shiro all but cooed, mithril fingers digging into the area at the base of Keith's tail.

Really, he found himself unreasonably glad that dragons didn't have tempers.  After all, they were so fun to tease.

—

"Are you excited?" Keith asked, turning again in the tunnel, a little breathless, but not as much as Shiro, who was trying to catch up.  Still, there was a tightness in Shiro's throat and an excitement pounding in his chest.

Shiro, not trusting himself to speak, not with how his lungs were laboring at the long but necessary walk, simply nodded, a grin stretching across his face.

He could have ridden Keith on the way—in fact, he could have for quite some time now—but he had already decided that he wanted this to be his reward for his recovery, his ability to finally walk more than a short distance without having to collapse into a heap for far longer than he had been walking.

As the tunnel curved again, Shiro finally caught a glimpse of robin's egg blue, and his heart soared.

He quickened his step for just a moment, but his body immediately informed him that that was a terrible idea, so he obeyed and slowed, just a little.  Still, as the sliver of blue widened into a half-moon, then a circle, he could feel his cheeks aching from the size of his smile.

"Me too!"  Keith wiggled, barely missing Shiro, but neither of them noticed terribly much, Shiro focused on his goal and Keith focused on... well, him.

He eventually reached the mouth of the cave, and as the brightness and warmth of the sun kissed his starved skin, he let out an audible groan of bliss.

"Oh," Shiro breathed, closing his eyes and tilting his face up as he stepped slowly forward.  "That feels... wonderful."

Even more so without the full plate armor that had drawn Keith's ire.  Instead, he had chosen a pair of loose linen breeches, white to prevent the heat from growing too much, and a sleeveless shirt, not as loose, but it would suffice.  For some reason, the enchanted wardrobe that Keith had bestowed upon Shiro seemed to be unable to make a shirt that wasn't at least slightly tight.  He had attempted to discuss with it, but he wasn't entirely sure that the wardrobe could understand speech anyway, so he had let it go and decided to simply make do.  It was possible that it could only make up to a certain size, anyway.

But this time, it proved to be to his advantage: the desert wind, surprisingly cooler than Shiro had expected, possibly because of the elevation, touched against every part of his exposed skin as well as at his shirt.  It tousled his hair, bringing with it the scent of sand and wilderness and something that Shiro could only describe as joyous freedom.

"I can't believe how much I missed this," Shiro breathed, turning his head to take in the vast desert before him.  Though he could spot the edge in the distance, where it turned into somewhat more habitable land—the direction from which he had come initially—the desert stretched off in the other direction so far that he could barely spot a range of mountains on the horizon, so faint that they might even be a mirage.

Keith stepped closer, nudging Shiro's shoulder gently with his own, and Shiro leaned into him, turning in place, speechless at the sight.

He hadn't had the opportunity, when he had first arrived, to take in the sights, too preoccupied with his mission.  In addition, he had entered Keith's cave through an opening in the side of the mountain, a ledge that blocked off the view in one direction.  Now, Keith had led him out through another exit, this one opening onto a plateau at the very top of Keith's "mountain," and Shiro could see... everything.

Even under normal circumstances, in some of the wildest places he had been, he rarely was able to see this great a distance.   Normally, his vision would include trees, castles, mountains—all places Shiro usually found himself working.  A desert was a rarity, and that only made the vast expanse that much more breathtaking.  Something about it choked up his throat, leaving a yearning buried inside him that he had no idea how to quench.

He pressed harder into Keith, craning his neck back to take in the wide expanse of sky.  Just as seeing the land so empty was an overwhelming sight, so was the vastness of that blue.

"You like it?" Keith murmured, and Shiro shook himself slightly, realizing that he had settled into a slight daze.  The back of his nose stung, and with a jolt of surprise, he realized that actual tears were threatening to form at the corners of his eyes.

"I love it."  Shiro turned back to Keith, grin stretching slowly across his face, and he reached out to take that questioning snout and placed a kiss on top.  "It's beautiful.  I could never have imagined seeing something like this, let alone having someone so wonderful to share it with."

The low rumble of Keith clearing his long throat vibrated through Shiro, and Keith looked away, unable to meet Shiro's eyes.  Still, Shiro had learned enough draconic body language by now to recognize flustered, embarrassed Keith, and he only continued to grin.

"You... you should sit down.  For a bit.  I brought..."  Keith twisted his neck, head reaching over to between his wings, and he tugged out a cushion held between his teeth.  Shiro blinked, but he supposed at that angle, the barely-extended wings did provide a sufficient shape to hold something like that.  He accepted the cushion and set it on the ground.  Though tempted to protest that he was fine, the hopeful expression on Keith's face... well, Shiro would feel like a monster for turning it down.

"I appreciate it."  With a sigh of relief, he sank down, then reached for Keith, expecting the dragon to follow.

But instead, he stepped away, watching Shiro with a curious, uncertain expression.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Shiro had just opened up his mouth to ask what was wrong when Keith straightened.

"I want to show you something."

Before Shiro could ask what it was, Keith had crouched, then launched himself into the air.

Another thing that Shiro had missed in his focus on his ill-fated mission: Keith in flight.  Shiro had only noted the presence of a dragon  _ after _ Keith had landed on the ground, so while Shiro had a wide frame of reference for what Keith looked like at all angles while grounded, he had never seen what being in the air did to him.

Probably for the best.  The sight of those powerful wings—spread a monstrous length across the sky, bright sunlight filtering in through the crimson of the wing and glinting purple off of the dark scales of his neck—left him dizzy enough when he was nearly  _ healed. _  Had he been confronted with this absolute wonder when badly injured, Shiro couldn't see himself surviving it.

Shiro couldn't even bring himself to blink as Keith beat his wings again, then pivoted, now flying parallel alongside Shiro.  As he watched, Keith folded his wings in, flat against his body, and threw himself to the side, spiraling as he shot through the air.  Even without the wings to keep him aloft, the speed he had reached kept him racing forward, barely losing altitude, and Shiro's head had to turn quickly to keep him in sight.

And then Keith's nose dipped, and although he knew that Keith's wing had healed, his heart still jumped into his throat as Keith hurtled towards the ground.  But instead of continuing his dive, the dragon continued to spin forwards, body arcing in a circle as Keith pulled off a somersault that nearly had his mouth at his own tail.  Another, then a third; a stunning display of agility, all without opening his wings once.

But then they did snap open, catching Keith midair with another burst of crimson diffusing through the skin on his wings, a glory of red and black and elegance and grace, and Shiro...

Stars, Shiro couldn't think of a single thing as beautiful as this moment, with his friend—his  _ lover _ , he realized with a shiver—in the sky above him, wheeling and spinning, performing impressive figure-eights and somersaults and maneuvers that left Shiro almost wondering how Keith didn't fall out of the sky.

He inhaled sharply, eyes fixed on Keith, as he climbed higher, so high that Shiro wondered if he might lose sight—

And then he seemed to go limp.

Shiro watched as, in slow motion, Keith began to hurtle down towards the ground, spinning faster and faster with his wings pulled in as he picked up speed.  Simply watching left Shiro breathless, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

Keith grew close, close enough to make out clearly, and still made no signs of stopping.  That was when Shiro began to panic.

Pushing himself to his feet despite the ache, heart in his throat, not knowing what he was going to do but needing to do something  _ anyway _ , he prayed that this wasn't an accident; that Keith had somehow—

With a sinuous twist, Keith was upright again, wings snapping out with another glorious display of red, so quickly that Shiro heard a faint  _ pop. _  Though moments ago he had been careening towards Shiro, a flap, then another, and a few more had him slowing to a speed that seemed to be almost feather-light.

Moments later, Keith's limbs had touched the ground with a deftness that Shiro would have thought impossible for a creature of such an impressive size.  His wings remained extended for a few moments, shadowing Shiro in their red glow as they shielded him from the sun.

And then they withdrew, leaving Shiro faced, once again with Keith, the same Keith he knew and cared about, but now… so much more.  Though his feet had remained planted firmly on the ground, Shiro felt almost as if  _ he _ had been the one tumbling and racing through the sky, and he had the adrenaline to match it.

Gray eyes met violet, and as Shiro reached out a tentative hand, Keith butted his nose into it.  Taking the invitation, Shiro stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Keith’s head and pulling it to his chest.

As he felt his heartbeat slow, his adrenaline and fear slipping away, Shiro closed his eyes and rested his head against Keith’s neck, a small smile curving over his face at the sensation of fierce heat radiating against his chest.

Shiro ran his hand across Keith's neck, enjoying the smooth sensation of the scales, but eventually, he pulled back, smiling gently.  His knees trembled a bit, and he took the opportunity to sit back onto the cushion, taking a deep breath.  It still hurt, was still a bit short, but it left him in far less agony than he had found himself a month ago.

Keith settled down next to him, lifting a wing and holding it up to shade Shiro from the worst of the sun.  With a delighted laugh, Shiro nudged at it.

"Thank you.  But... what was that for?  It was beautiful, don't get me wrong, but... wow.  Do you just do that for fun?"

Keith grunted, but didn't answer verbally, instead just shrugging his shoulders.  Shiro shook his head, determined to solve the mystery at some point, but...

Well, for now he just sat in contented silence, breathing in the air that blew gently across his skin.

—

After watching a glorious, brilliant sunset that left Shiro's chest aching, the desert began its transformation from warm to chilly, and Shiro hadn't dressed for that change in climate.  The trip back down into the caves proved to be a little more difficult than the initial journey, as Shiro had already walked quite some distance for the day, so he eventually acquiesced to Keith's offer of a ride.  The cushion proved to be a good shape to prevent the spikes of Keith's back from digging into anything important, and Shiro had to wonder if that was a coincidence or had been chosen with intent.  It was hard to tell with Keith, sometimes.

But they eventually returned to the caverns below, and though he did feel a pang of wistfulness for the open sky above him, the stone walls and ceilings and lighting did have their own sort of magic, of comfort, and he realized with a start that this had become more of a home than he had had in... a long time.

Keith dropped Shiro off in the library, one of Shiro's first organization projects and, so far, the most successful, then shuffled off to scrounge for some dinner after receiving a peck on the snout.  Shiro waited until the sound of scales echoing on stone had vanished into the distance, then headed straight for the section of books he had carefully curated for just this purpose.

While he had found several dozen tomes on draconian behavior in Keith's collection—unsurprising—he had yet to find the time alone to read most of them.  After all, he felt a little silly—and nosey—blatantly reading information on something he could have just asked Keith about, but some things might be too awkward to share, or lead down roads that Shiro wasn't prepared to handle.

Dragon-human relations, for example.  While he had no doubt that the few he had skimmed were melodramatic renditions of the act (he couldn't imagine that anyone would spend so much money on bodices only to consent to have them torn with such frequency), they did at least provide... some perspective on what Shiro might expect if they ever...

But he shook off those thoughts and returned to the task at hand.  Ridiculous as they might have been, there had been a throw-away line in one of them that had pinged something in Shiro's memory as he reflected on the sight of Keith's acrobatics.  Instead of turning to those novels, however, he chose a tome that he had noted as being particularly promising when he had come across it, and even set it in a small pile of things to read once he had the time.

Plucking it from its spot and settling into the cushions that Keith kept around the entirety of the caverns, he began to skim.  When he came across the term "mating dance," he slowed, beginning to examine the text more thoroughly.

As he read, about dragons and mates and devotion, about impressive displays of aerial maneuvers designed to prove that a dragon was fit to become a permanent partner, of intense loyalty to the one they had chosen to the point of being capable of breathtakingly dramatic feats...

Shiro took it all in and began to smile.

* * *

_Art by[Inkforwordsart](http://inkforwordsart.tumblr.com/post/167066337415/hearts-of-fire-by-xyriath-rated-e-sheith)_


	8. Chapter 8

“Careful!”

It really shouldn’t have been funny, the urgent concern in Keith’s voice as Shiro picked his way over the rocks near the top entrance to the cave, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning anyway.

“You worry so much,” he murmured, passing over the hurdle without problem and continuing forward.  I  _ am _ more or less healed now, you know.”

“Well, given that there was a ‘less’ in there,” Keith huffed, “I’m going to keep being worried until you’re out safe.”

Shiro just shot a look of fond exasperation over his shoulder at Keith, then deliberately took the last several steps out into the evening desert air.

“Happy?”

Keith didn’t respond, only snorted as he hurried forward, stepping out beside Shiro.  Shiro smiled as he reached for the pouch slung over Keith’s side, digging out suitable trappings for lounging on the ground yet again: this time, he had brought several pillows, as well as a blanket to settle over them, turning it into a mattress of sorts.

Though the desert grew cold at night, leaning back against a dragon proved to be a perfectly satisfactory form of keeping warm, and Shiro determined that he wouldn’t even need a fire.  So, after opening a few bottles of wine, most of which went into a shallow bowl for Keith, he poured a goblet himself and settled back.  As he did so, he whispered the magic words that left the orb of light winking out, plunging them into darkness.

After several moments of waiting for his eyes to adjust, he tilted his head back, then exhaled with awe.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, as the expanse of the cloudless night sky stretched out above him.

“It really is,” Keith rumbled from behind him, side warm against Shiro’s back.  “I never really noticed before.  I mean, I knew it was pretty enough, but it wasn’t until you came along that I really looked.”

The words left a pleasant squirming sensation in Shiro’s stomach.  Hearing that he had brought someone to the love of something he considered so dear to him, especially when that someone was so dear to him themselves…

He ducked his head to hide a grin before he remembered that Keith couldn’t see it anyway.

“I’m glad,” Shiro murmured, face nearly as warm as Keith behind him, and they sat in silence for some time.

“Hey!” Keith burst out, making Shiro jump.  “Hey, I see him!  That’s the fae king’s lover!  Just like in the book!”

Shiro pressed back into Keith, curling up and grinning as he picked out the shape himself.  “Yes, it is.  Do you recognize anymore?”

“I… there’s the slave whose cunning impressed the emperor so much that he married her, and there’s the sea turtles…”

Keith continued to pick out more constellations they had found in the book.  For his part, Shiro had done this often enough since childhood that he knew their locations already, so he turned his attention to the stars as a whole.

The utter darkness of the desert and the new moon meant that Shiro’s view of the stars was unimpeded by any other light sources, and the difference between being out here and even being in a small town was staggering.  Though the constellations stood out as the brightest, so many other tiny stars littered the backdrop, scattered across the darkness like gems from Keith’s hoard.  As time had gone on, his eyes had continued to grow sharper in the dark, to pick out the fainter stars more easily, and the Path to Heaven slowly became visible.

“Do your people have any legends about that?”  He gestured at the soft stretch of gray in the sky that looked as if smoke were billowing out from the horizon, an eternity of a distance away.  “For us, it’s said that souls use it as a pathway, after they die, to ascend to the heavens.”

A shifting from behind him, and Shiro turned his head, able to make out the shape of Keith leaning in towards him in the darkness.  “For dragons, it’s a means of escape.  When we’re hunted, legend has it that if you can make it that far, you’ll find somewhere no one can hurt you.”

The words pierced Shiro more effectively than Lotor’s stiletto.  What must it be like, living in a world where so many people thought you a monster, worthy only of a monster’s ignoble death?  He thought of how close Keith had come to ending up slain, and his chest contracted.

“Astoria used it, actually.  She’s the constellation right there.”  Shiro suddenly felt Keith’s head right next to his, and he nudged them both up.  “You see, to the right of the cloud?  The bright star right there, and there’s a sort of a trapezoid…”

“I’m familiar with the shape,” Shiro said quietly.  As well as the story: the dragon, unnamed in the tale he had always heard, had been slain by a hero rescuing a princess from where she had been chained as a sacrifice.

“Yeah.  She saved a princess from a cruel suitor her parents were forcing her to wed, and they escaped among the stars.”

Shiro swallowed around the lump in his throat as he reached up to place a hand on Keith’s neck.  “That’s a lovely story.”

A huff of breath ruffled his hair.  “I like yours, too.  It’s a beautiful place to go when you die.”

Shiro made a noncommittal noise, taking in the sight of the sky again.  “I… I hope so.  It’s the only way I’ll get to…  _ be  _ there, you know?”

Keith shifted, and Shiro felt his tail slide up against Shiro’s leg.  “What do you mean?”

Shiro hesitated, wondering how to word what sounded absolutely crazy.

“Well… you have scryers, of course.  Divination can… sort of tell you what’s out there.  What stars are, too, and there are other galaxies, and planets, and  _ so many amazing _ things out there.  Can you imagine?  So much more to explore.”  His smile faded slowly.  “But no way to get there.”

The tail slid slowly up Shiro’s side, then the tip of it began to card through his hair.  At that, he let out a startled laugh.

“What are you doing?”

Keith froze for a moment, then resumed the motion, though slower.  “Well, you don’t have a tail, and I didn’t want to hurt you by wrapping mine around your legs, so… so I’m doing this instead.”

Though the slight defensiveness of Keith’s voice was cute, the action in itself was even cuter.  Shiro hummed, pleased, and tilted his head into the affectionate motions, settling back in to watch the stars.

He barely noticed the noise, the faint sound of rock crumbling, but he  _ did _ sense the sudden tension at his back as Keith straightened, head raised, unease tangible in every bit of him that Shiro could feel.  That was enough to cause him to take heed, to straighten as well and peer around, though his night vision was substantially poorer.

“What is it?” he hissed, unable to make anything but shadows.

“Someone’s here,” Keith breathed in return, barely audible.  “I can smell them.”

“A thief, do you think?”

No response came, however, and Shiro stayed as still as he could manage, ears straining.  He heard absolutely nothing.

No, wait—there!  Shiro turned at the same time he heard Keith do the same, and then a jet of flame lit up his vision with an agonizing brightness.

He let out a cry of pain and staggered back, screwing his eyes shut, still able to see the outline of the fire behind his eyelids.  But he had barely finished crying out himself when a roar of fury and—pain?  Was Keith  _ hurt? _ —sounded from in front of him.

He managed to force his eyes back open, much as they didn’t want to go, and blinking around the afterimage, he managed to see that Keith’s flame had ignited several pieces of brush, which were now providing a low light that at least partially lit up the plateau.  He whirled, looking for Keith, and spotted him over to the side, front claws lifted as they struggled with something on his snout.

Shiro lunged in his direction, fully intending to help, but just in the nick of time, he spotted the glint of something headed in his direction.  With a gasp, he lifted his right arm for cover, and something hard and metal deflected off of it.  As it spun off into the darkness, Shiro didn’t miss the gleam of a knife.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shiro bolted in the direction from which the knife had been flung.  Small, ranged; the assailant probably didn’t fight well in close quarters, and hadn’t been expecting a frontal attack, either.  Though his vision was still poor, he managed to catch sight of someone trying to turn and run.  Short, cloaked, and—vanished, into the dark.

But with another roar of anger, the sky lit up again, this time, the fire blazing from behind Shiro and providing him with the advantage of having his back to the brilliant light.   _ There! _

Before the fire petered out, Shiro lunged.  It might have been quick, but Shiro possessed surprising speed himself, and with a cry of victory, he tackled the small figure.

It struggled, but Shiro was prepared for its tricks: another deflected knife, and Shiro had managed to pin both flailing arms in his human one.  Though he was, technically, weaponless, he lifted his right arm, the dwarf metal glowing a white-hot color at his command.

“Freeze!” he snarled, knowing he made quite the intimidating sight, with his luminous arm and his scar.

The figure obeyed, and for a heartbeat, all was still.  But a few moments later, a small, uncertain voice sounded from underneath him.

“…Shiro?”

Shiro immediately froze at the word, eyes going wide.  He might have simply thought that the white streak of his hair had given him away, but no, something about that voice…

Despite his better judgement, he quickly cooled the metal arm and reached out to yank the hood back.

Moments later, he was scrambling backwards off of her.

“Pidge?” he gasped, belatedly wondering if someone had played a trick on him.  A shapeshifter, perhaps, or an illusionist.  But she didn’t jump up, or try to run; in fact, she simply lay there for a few moments, panting.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, then slowly sat up, rubbing the back of her head, curls tumbling out around her face.

Behind him, Shiro could hear Keith storming up to stand next to him.  “What—capture them, Shiro!  What are you waiting for!”  A beat.  “…Or I could eat it.”

“No!”

Both Shiro and Pidge cried it at the same time, and Keith froze in the middle of lunging forward, razor sharp teeth bared, the only things easily visible in the low light.  He turned to Shiro, and though he couldn’t properly see, Shiro could imagine the sulky expression on his face.  “Why  _ not? _ ”

Shiro simply shook his head, then stumbled over to where their nest had scattered into pieces.  Still, he was able to find the pouch fairly easily, and he squinted as he spoke the incantation to light the globe up yet again.

Finally, Shiro could get a good look at their assailant: young, only a couple of years younger than Shiro, though she looked like she could be in her teens.  An asset, in her line of work.  She hadn’t stood, though, or even really made much of an effort to sit up.  Instead, she had cringed away from the light, expression almost pained as she lifted an arm to keep it from her freckled face.  Shiro, who had at least had a chance to prepare himself for the brightness, slowly allowed his eyes to open.

“ _ Shiro _ ,” Keith protested, teeth still bared, sounding incredibly irate.  “What is going  _ on? _ ”

“This is Pidge,” Shiro said slowly, watching her carefully.  He knew why she was here, but to tell Keith that…  “We… know each other.  From the past.”

Pidge let out a grunt, finally sitting up.  “I’m an assassin.”

A low growl sounded from Keith’s direction, and Shiro stumbled over to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder.  “It’s all right.  She obviously stopped trying to kill us, so…”

“Damn straight,” Pidge muttered, rubbing her hands down her face.  “I had no idea it was  _ you _ I’d been sent up here to kill.  Must have been why the bastard didn’t give me any names.”

A block of ice slowly began to form in Shiro’s chest as he watched her, gears whirring in his head.  Finally, he spoke.

“Prince Lotor.”

She rested her elbows on her thighs, raising an eyebrow at him.  “So you were expecting him, or something from him?”

“Someone to finish the job doesn’t surprise me,” Shiro snapped, voice bitter as he turned away.  “He must have realized I had survived.  Curse it all.

“I don’t think you’ve ever said a curse word in your life.”  As Shiro glanced back up at her, she shrugged.  “He doesn’t know, actually.  I thought the story was kind of sketchy, but he paid well, so I didn’t ask too many questions.  Figured I’d assess it when I got here.”

“She put something  _ sticky _ on my snout, Shiro,” Keith whined, softly and angrily, from beside him.  “It won’t come  _ off. _ ”

“Dragon jelly,” Pidge offered.  “Gives me a few seconds to avoid getting charred and run away.  Would’ve worked, too.”

Keith muttered darkly, and Shiro had to put a hand on his neck to calm him.  Still, there were more important things at hand.  “What did he tell you?”

“He told me that he had barely managed to escape after the dragon had eaten you,” she said promptly.  “Or, well, the knight that had come to rescue him—he didn’t mention names, obviously.  But he said that the dragon had a human ally who was working with him to kidnap nobility for ransom, and that I was to see if I could find him, or prove that he had been killed during his  _ Highness’s _ escape.”

She said the title with a particular disdain that left Shiro feeling petty yet satisfied.  “So, he wanted you to find out if I was alive to tell people about what he was up to.”

She shrugged again, eyeing him frankly.  “Seems like it.  Like I said, I didn’t ask questions.  I just took his money.”

Shiro grimaced slightly at the words.  While he was glad that she had stopped when she had realized his identity, the ease at which she had accepted the task sat a little heavily within him.  Though, they had already had that conversation, and now was certainly not the time for it.  “I’m glad that you stopped.”

“Me too.  God, you would have fried me.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “And so would the lizard over there.”

Keith let out an outraged noise, moving to lunge forward, but Shiro’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.  “And now what?”

“Now?”  She stood, dusting off her cloak.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to tell the prince that his problem is dead and collect my money.”

“But—but you didn’t kill us!” Keith protested, and both Shiro and Pidge turned to stare at him.

“Do you  _ want _ me to?”

“You could  _ try! _ ” Keith spat.  “I’d like to see you!”

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, running a hand up and down his neck.  “Please.  I’ll clean you off when we get back inside.”

“Can’t believe she ruined our evening,” Keith muttered, but he slunk back in the direction of the entrance.  Pidge glanced over at Keith, then back to Shiro, eyebrow raised.  Shiro raised an eyebrow back.

“You still holding onto that ‘Pure’ title?” she drawled.

Shiro could feel himself flush.  “That is  _ none _ of your business,” he snapped, scowling, but then his expression softened.  “Is there anything else that you can tell me?  About what he’s been up to?  I still don’t know what it is that he wants.”

She exhaled, shoving her hands into her pockets.  “Well, I heard him and his father arguing about what to do with some spear.  Said that it wouldn’t do them good against hundreds, but if they used it as a source of a spell, not just a weapon, they’d manage to harvest plenty.”  She shot him a significant look.  “And I know they keep this quiet, but from what I’ve heard, they’ve just about depleted the treasury.  Sounds like they’re in trouble.”

An unpleasant sensation trickled down Shiro’s spine, and a suspicion began to take root.  “Is… is that so.”

“I swear it,” she said instantly, and Shiro knew that the words didn’t come lightly.  “But that’s all I know.”  She lifted her eyes to meet Shiro’s, expression grave.  A moment of hesitation and she reached into her cloak, then pulled out a small bound scroll.  Though he stared when she offered, he did accept.

“What…?”

“You know what this is.”

Shiro glanced down at it, the sight sparking a memory.  Indeed?  But why would she… ah.  He realized what she expected from him, and… she probably wasn’t wrong.

“Be careful.  This looks pretty bad, you know.  This won’t be enough to pay my debt back to you, and you’d better not die before that happens.”

Shiro opened his mouth to protest, but she had turned, clearly finished with the conversation.  As he watched, she stepped over to the edge of the plateau, grabbing onto where he could now see a hook had lodged itself around a rock, securing a rope to the edge.

“You can keep the gear,” she called behind her as she scooped up the rope, then hopped over, vanishing into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

“Can’t believe she ruined our evening like that…”

Shiro only half-listened to Keith as he grumbled under his breath about the interruption.  He was too distracted by the knowledge he had just learned.  As they made their way back into the passage of caves, Shiro thought furiously.  It was already apparent that the threat from Lotor was still very much there.  He was beginning to have an inkling of what might be the prince’s and king’s long game, but he couldn’t quite puzzle out how they would pull it off.

“You’re upset.”

The words, spoken much louder than Keith’s earlier grumbling, were clearly something that Shiro was expected to respond to.  He glanced up, startled, to see that Keith had turned his head, no longer paying attention to where he was walking, instead choosing to watch Shiro.  Shiro shook his own head, figuring he would need to watch for the both of them.

“I’m… worried.  It sounds like they have plans for that spear, and that they exceed anything I could have expected.”

At that, Keith slowed to a halt, head barely out of the mouth of the tunnel that opened onto his den.  When Shiro realized Keith was no longer next to him, he paused and turned.

The dragon lingered back in the shadows, expression hesitant, wings pulled in so tightly against his back that Shiro could barely tell they were there, much further than the wide space of the tunnel would require to navigate comfortably.

“I let him get away,” Keith said, voice tiny.  “With the spear.  Do you think…”

“No,” Shiro answered forcefully, striding forward to take Keith’s head, cradling it in his arms and pressing his forehead against it.  “No, you couldn’t have stopped this.  You tried, but he had that spear.  You’re lucky you’re not  _ dead. _ ”

Keith rumbled, but didn’t otherwise respond, and the corner of Shiro’s lip quirked up.  “You know I wouldn’t lie to you.  ‘The Honest,’ remember?  And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”  He closed his eyes, cheek resting against Keith’s forehead, and the next words slipped out before he could even think.  “I love you, after all.”

Shiro could feel Keith shudder beneath him, then a warm, almost shocked breath.

“I love you too,” Keith whispered, and Shiro laughed softly, chest swelling with pride and excitement.  An odd pair, perhaps, he mused, but right now, he couldn’t think of anything that could make him happier to hear.

“If you were human,” Shiro murmured, pulling back to meet Keith’s eyes, “I would kiss you right now.”

The noise Keith made was a strange groaning one, and before Shiro realized it, Keith was stepping forward, butting Shiro gently with his head, nudging him and pushing until Shiro allowed himself to be led with a laugh.  “What…?”

As Keith stepped fully into the den, he extended his wing, herding Shiro towards the huge nest of blankets, pillows, and other soft materials that made up Keith’s sleeping arrangement.  With one final push into the chest, Shiro found himself toppling backwards into the middle of it all, and he let out a bark of startled laughter as Keith nosed affectionately into his side.

“What are you doing?” he laughed, reaching up to wrap his arms around Keith’s neck and pressing an affectionate kiss to his cheek.  Something warm and wonderful curled in his chest, a joyous euphoria that seemed to increase every time his fingers brushed against Keith, and with every nudge, it continued to grow until he thought he might burst.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Keith murmured, a claw flicking out to gently card through Shiro’s hair.  “Adding you to my hoard.”

At  _ that _ , a delicious shudder ran through Shiro as the meaning of the words became clear.  His memory drifted back to the evening Keith had asked Shiro to lean back, to slide down his breeches…

They hadn’t done anything that had even come close again.  Shiro had debated asking about it, but hadn’t wanted to make things strange, and pursuing this romance—for that’s what it had become, and quite some time ago—had been much easier without the weight of sexual expectations on his shoulders.  But now…

But now, Shiro was ready.

He swallowed, steeling himself, the nerves warring with the anticipation, but as his legs fell open, the anticipation won out.

“Okay,” he whispered, leaning back into the nest, eyes wide as he tilted his head up, watching Keith with a sense of utter trust.  “What do you need me to do?”

Keith drew back for a moment, as if a little startled, but his eyelids lowered halfway, the way, Shiro knew, for a dragon to return that expression.

“You’ll want to get undressed,” he murmured, watching Shiro cautiously.  “And… I’m well enough to shapeshift, now, if you wanted…”

Shiro slowly tugged off his shirt, considering.  The more familiar option had its appeal—namely, a more thorough understanding of how the anatomy worked—but the thought of being intimate with such an unfamiliar body left him… unsettled.

“You… you said we could, without it injuring me?”

Keith nodded.  Shiro took a deep breath.

“No,” he said quietly, eyes roving up Keith’s reptilian form, lithe and sleek and strong.  “I’d like you to stay like this.”

Another rumble from Keith, and Shiro picked up on the pleased note in the noise as shaking fingers tugged at his breeches.  Steeling himself—it wasn’t as if Keith had never seen Shiro naked before—he slid them down off his waist.

As Keith’s purple eyes fixed on his naked form, Shiro reflected that this was… very, very different than being seen incidentally without his clothes on.  Even when Keith had pleasured him, Shiro had at least remained partially clothed, and the vulnerability of being stripped bare shook him, just a bit.  But there was an appeal to it, as well, the way that Keith eyed him almost hungrily, but Shiro knew that he had absolutely no thoughts of food in mind.  And something about the embarrassment worked for him: he could feel his cock stiffening, growing harder, rising slowly at the prospect of finally being with his lover.  Of finally being with  _ any _ lover.  He had never been opposed to the idea, of course, just the constraints of time…

“Touch yourself,” Keith breathed, but Shiro’s left hand had already begun to lift, curling around his growing erection.  His fingers closed around the underside, eyes locked on Keith’s, and he could feel the heat high on his face as he gave one slow, long stroke.

“Keep going,” Keith breathed.  “And… and spread your legs.  So I can…”

Shiro nodded, and Keith’s head lowered.  The thought of that tongue sent delicious shivers of anticipation through Shiro’s gut, and though the temptation to close his eyes was strong, he fixed them on the ridge of Keith’s neck instead.

Then Keith’s jaw opened, and that long tongue flicked out, sliding slowly up Shiro’s thigh, doing its work and sending frissons of pleasure through his skin where it made contact.

Keith took his sweet time working his way up, then made his way down his other inner thigh, leaving both of them shaking.  The smooth scrape of scales against his skin provided a delightful contrast as Keith pressed his cheek to Shiro’s thigh, eyes half-closed in contentment as he rested it there.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured, and then his tongue darted out again to right below Shiro’s hand, pressing up against his hole.

Shiro had completely forgotten to continue moving his hand, and this wiped the rest of his thoughts out of his mind.  The warm, prehensile sensation sliding up between his cheeks and against one of the most intimate parts of himself left him yelping, arching, almost choking at the foreignness of the touch.  But it was slick, and warm, and did more for him than his hand ever had: the warmth of arousal curling in his gut grew into a heat, almost burning, an ache for this to go further.  A  _ need _ to have Keith closer.  To have him…

A soft growl as Keith slid his head down Shiro’s thigh as well, tongue continuing its work.  The two forked tip of the tongue circled his entrance with a precision that surprised him, and then started to breach him with a surprising gentleness.

Shiro let out a soft whine at the intrusion, eyes finally screwing closed.  The sensation of being penetrated wasn’t entirely unfamiliar—he had fingers, of course, and was only human, after all—but in all his fantasies, he had never imagined it being a  _ dragon’s tongue. _

He knew enough to force himself to relax, discipline kicking in, but there was still a slight burn, whether from Keith’s heat or from the stretch Shiro couldn’t tell.  Regardless, it completely vanished from his mind as that damned tongue worked its way deeper.

Shiro had thought the aphrodisiac had been difficult enough to cope with when it had been on his side, or his cock.  But having it  _ buried within him _ was unlike anything he could have imagined: little static shocks of pleasure coursing up through his insides, through his ass and into his abdomen and cock.  Belatedly, he realized that his hand had stopped, and he made another attempt at a shaky stroke.

“Keith,” he panted, and his eyes flew open to take in the sight of that dark head, buried between his thighs, as the tip of the muzzle pressed up against him.  Again, he thought back to how long and sharp those teeth were, how close he was to possible death, and the danger only left him more inflamed.

Keith only groaned, sending vibrations up through Shiro, and they rocked through his balls and cock almost painfully.  Somewhere, distantly, he realized how  _ slick _ the tongue was, and wondered why he hadn’t put it together earlier, exactly what else the saliva could be good for.

The tongue curled inside him, and Shiro yelled again, wordless and desperate.  It pressed up against his prostate, that delicious, sensitive spot inside him that he had stimulated to climax while alone, but Keith did it with even more skill, clearly experienced.  His right hand gripped the fabric underneath his fingers; his left tightened on his cock, stuttering in its rhythm.

“Nhmmm,” Keith murmured, nuzzling closer against Shiro as Shiro’s thighs spread even wider to allow him room.  “Tha’s it.”

Keith pressed against Shiro’s prostate a little more, sliding in the wider parts of his tongue, and Shiro could feel himself relaxing, ready to let Keith in.

Keith’s tongue slowly withdrew, on its way sliding intimately up against Shiro’s insides, and as it did, Shiro let out a soft cry of regret, now aching doubly from need and the absence.

“Flames, you open up beautifully,” Keith groaned, and as Shiro’s eyes flicked up in surprise, he could see that Keith looked like he was genuinely having a hard time restraining himself.  His tail lashed, and something in the air grew taut, tightened, the tension heightening as Shiro was seized with the brief moment of terror that Keith would lose control, flip him over and thrust in, fuck him until—

But instead of remaining afraid, something about the danger only made this that much sweeter.

Shiro pushed himself up and risked a glance downwards, and what he saw simply ramped up the apprehension.

Keith’s underbelly was usually smooth with scales, with no external indication of genitalia whatsoever.  But he could see now that there had been a slit near the back, underneath his tail, and that what looked like a large, dark appendage* was now sliding out.  It had to be as thick as Shiro’s arm—maybe even his leg.  And Keith had said—?!

“How?” he managed to croak, nervousness beginning to give way to real fear, and not necessarily the good kind.  He couldn’t even imagine stretching that wide, not without serious injury.

“It changes shape,” Keith panted, and Shiro’s eyes flicked back up to him.  There was still that expression of need, of near-desperation, but something about it had faded, had grown steelier, almost more protective at the sight of Shiro’s worry.  “You… you trust me, right?  If you don’t want to do this…”

The concern touched something inside of Shiro, melted away the iciness of the fear as quickly as it had grown.  A stupid thing to trust someone with, maybe, but this was Keith, and Shiro… Shiro wanted this.

He took a deep breath, letting his thighs fall open as he leaned back.  “I’m ready.”

A murmur of assent, and Keith was stepping forward, a forepaw on each side of Shiro, then moving past him until Shiro was staring up at somewhere around Keith’s midsection.

Well, at least they could cuddle afterwards.

A movement from behind Shiro, and he tilted his head back to see Keith watching him, both of their heads upside-down.  “It’ll be okay.  I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

Shiro just offered him a smile.

It was only a few more moments before Shiro felt something pressing up against his thighs, and he finally glance downward once again.  Keith’s cock had slid out fully, and it truly  _ was  _ the size of Shiro’s arm and nearly as long.  A closer look revealed that it was ridged, as well, with a unique texture that left him shivering with anticipation—and concern.  He knew about plenty of different sexual acts, even if he had never participated, but he had never expected something equivalent to fisting to be a part of his first time.

But as he watched, it elongated.  For a moment, Shiro nearly panicked, thinking that it was growing  _ bigger _ , even harder to take, but then he realized that as it grew longer, it grew thinner.  It slowly extended even as Keith stood still, the head roughly the size of two of his fingers when it finally pressed up against him.  It didn’t push too hard, only a slight pressure, as if waiting for permission.

“Go,” Shiro whispered, eager and fierce, and it went.

Keith’s cock had to have some form of lubrication as well, for how easily it slid inside, quickly breaching Shiro’s entrance with almost as much ease as Keith’s tongue.  It hurt a little more, but not excruciatingly so, and Shiro realized how much Keith was holding himself back to keep from hurting Shiro during his first time.

He let out a moan as it pressed deeper, grew a little wider, no longer as thin as it had been.  The ridges and bumps along the top slid up against him, inside him, and the sensation was deliciously foreign.  He heard a choke from above and behind him, and then a groan.

“Shiro, you feel amazing,” Keith gasped, and Shiro lifted a hand to press it against Keith’s stomach, his own chest heaving.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that Keith was shaking.

“I-it’s—god, Keith, you’re so…  _ oh. _ ”

Keith’s cock had widened to just this side of manageable, and Shiro wondered wildly how he had known to  _ do _ that, how to stretch Shiro to the point of pleasure and near overwhelming intensity, but not quite to genuine pain.  He groaned as it settled within him, slowly pressing deeper, filling him similarly to the tongue but so much  _ fuller. _  Though Shiro had touched himself, fingered himself, this was nothing like that: though he knew that it wasn’t nearly as deep as Keith could go, Shiro felt as if he had been penetrated to his very core.

And then, Keith stopped.

The two of them stayed still for a moment, Shiro panting raggedly as he adjusted to the cock inside him.  This was far different than any fingers he had ever put inside himself, large and huge and alien.  He wanted to reach up, to wrap his arms around Keith’s neck, but he had to settle for bracing a hand on Keith’s stomach.  He could handle this, if only barely, and the reality of how small he elt in comparison to the enormity above him left him dizzy.  Though the pressure had left his cock softening, a few more strokes and he could feel himself growing hard once again.

“Are you ready?” Keith panted, and Shiro could still feel that shaking of restraint reverberating underneath his metal hand.

Shiro paused to consider.  “This… this is as big as it’s gonna get?”

“Mhm.”

Shiro gently squeezed around Keith, testing the sensation, drawing a shocked groan from above him.  He immediately froze, but in front of him, Keith’s tail lashed.

“N-no, do that… do that again.”

The ragged note in Keith’s voice had Shiro’s cock stiffening even more, arousal and anticipation coursing through him, and he clenched down, hard.  It stretched him with an intensity that left him wondering if he was going to break, but the pain wasn’t terrible—in fact, it came with a surprising edge of pleasure alongside the pressure.  Hearing Keith groan above him, his lips stretched in a tired grin.

“I’m ready.”

Shiro felt more than saw Keith shift his weight, bracing himself, and then the hips pulled backwards.  The cock slid out of him, leaving him empty just as the tongue had, but before Shiro could voice his displeasure, it thrust in again.

He let out a cry, head tilted back, waiting for the next, but none came.  “Keep going!” he called, half-mad with desperation.  “If—if I need you to stop, I’ll say.”

A grunt of assent, and the massive cock drew back, then shoved in again.  The hurt hadn’t eased, but the pleasure was only growing as the intensity began to fulfill a need that had awakened in him, one that he hadn’t even known existed.

Keith grunted above him as he thrust again, then again, and Shiro could feel the cock, almost as prehensile as the tongue, writhing around within him, the texture undoing him every time the ridges slid against him.  When he glanced down, his stomach had bulged, just slightly, and he watched in fascination as, when Keith withdrew, it went back down.  He could feel his thighs shaking, and the knowledge that he was at the complete and utter mercy of such a powerful creature, one who loved him, one who  _ wanted _ him, was enough to make Shiro’s head spin.

Keith’s next thrust pressed expertly against his prostate, and pleasure shocked through him.  So did his next, and as Keith picked up a steady, careful rhythm, Shiro lost himself in it.

Some part of him felt vaguely guilty that he couldn’t much reciprocate, though he clenched down again, for just a moment, whenever Keith thrust in and he retained enough mental faculties to do so.  The noises from the dragon, growing in desperation, made all of it that much better.

But in all, he knew that right now, the best option was to lie back and take it.  And so he did, Keith’s cock working him open, and Shiro sank into his own thoughts, marveling at the experience.  A dragon, fierce and powerful and magnificent.   _ Keith _ , loyal and smart and adoring.  And Shiro, stretched and taken and being worked to exhaustion, but with an intensity that he craved like nothing else.

He bit his lip, screwing his eyes shut once again, as Keith began to pick up the pace.  Though it still wasn’t especially  _ fast _ , there was something demanding about it that Shiro found himself scrambling to meet, desperate to please, even as Keith pleased him.  He arched his hips up slightly to meet Keith, hand falling from his cock to grip the fabric below him so tightly that it tore.  He could hear a loud keening echoing in the cave, and after a moment, he realized it was him.

Keith’s movements had become relentless, but the pain had all but faded, overtaken by an overwhelming pleasure that Shiro drowned in.  Ecstasy rocked through him with each thrust, and he vaguely wondered how his body could handle something like this, but another thrust shoved all thoughts from his mind yet again.  A coolness prickled on his cheeks, and he realized that tears had begun to roll down them.

Was he close?  He was, he realized dazedly, and he fumbled up to attempt to grab his cock yet again.  His fingers, however, barely behaved, unable to grip anything, so he quickly gave up, and in a moment of perverse fascination, he crept them downward, past his cock, behind his balls, to barely press up against his rim.

They found a hot wetness, slick from Keith’s tongue and cock, and the stretch of skin as Keith continued to press into him, the sensation on Shiro’s fingers as they felt the slide of cock as it disappeared into him, was absolutely obscene.

Keith shifted, growing the tiniest bit larger, as if he realized Shiro could now handle it.  The intensity of it left him blind, throwing his head back as he screamed, “ _ Fuck! _ ”

A roar sounded from above him, no longer quiet or restrained growls, and the vibrations of it rumbled through Keith’s chest and down into Shiro.  It jolted him, thrusting him over to the edge of climax, and with a snarl, Keith shifted, adjusting his angle, and snapped forward forcefully, filling him with hard, hot cock, leaving room for nothing else as he shoved Shiro over it.

Shiro screamed again, this time wordless, as he came with an intensity so sharp it was almost painful.  It seemed to last a long time, and his cries didn’t stop, not as he clenched around Keith, not as his cock found its release, not as Keith let out another roar, pushing past the boundaries of overstimulation and leaving Shiro sobbing as Keith lost his hold as well.  Shiro barely noticed the shocking heat suddenly filling him, increasing the pressure inside him once again, but this time it wasn’t Keith’s cock.  Not just, anyway—it twitched and pulsed, and with ragged pants, Shiro realized that Keith had just come inside him as well.

But it was far more than any human, and as Shiro’s body tried to bring him down from the orgasm, the liquid continued to fill him to a point he thought he might burst.

And then it was over, Shiro dazed and boneless, Keith’s shaking so intense that Shiro could feel it even through the pillows.

He couldn’t speak yet—couldn’t even move—so all he did was lie back limp, as Keith slowly pulled out of him.  If he wasn’t already completely spent, the slick sensation of being emptied, of that massive cock withdrawing, would have left him hard yet again.

It ached, and he found himself missing the feeling within moments.  But Keith’s seed remained, he realized, and if he had the energy to flush as the awareness of it settled within him, he probably would have.

“Oh,” Shiro panted dazedly, staring up at the expanse of black-purple scales above him.

He could see them move, felt Keith shifting around him, but he simply lay there, mind fuzzy, thighs slick, taking in what had just happened.

Though he felt physically empty, at least a little, his chest seemed fuller, almost giddy, at the sight of Keith moving around him in the corner of his vision.  Sharing this, the intimacy of it, carrying a piece of keith inside him, experiencing something he never had before with someone he loved, left a tired smile spreading over his face.

And then Keith curled up beside him, neck stretched out, pressing into Shiro, his chin resting on the pillows right next to Shiro’s head.  With a weary grunt, Shiro pushed himself onto his side, watching him dazedly.

“Hi,” he slurred, a faint smile on his mouth.

Keith let out a soft huff of laughter, eyelids lowering halfway, and Shiro reached a hand out to place it on his cheek, nudging a leg forward to half throw it over Keith’s neck.  It left a slight smudge, but one of them could clean it later.  Right now, Shiro just wanted to feel him.

“Hi,” Keith murmured back, watching him lazily.  “Are you all right?”

Shiro did pause to consider the question, but after sizing up the important bits—especially his ass—he nodded.  “I’ll probably ache tomorrow, but honestly, it’s worth it.”  Shiro shifted, propping his chin on his arm, his smile growing.  He felt completely worked over, like after running a long way, or a particularly grueling fight.  But this was far more… satisfying.  That giddy sensation made its return, strong enough now to take Shiro’s breath away for a moment.  “Honestly, I’m… I’m wonderful.”

A tension that Shiro hadn’t realized existed until now visibly drained from Keith, and he pressed closer.  “Good.  I… I was worried.  Even though I knew it would be okay, I still…”

“No, no,” Shiro murmured, reaching out to run his hand down Keith’s snout.  “You were careful.  I trusted you.”

Keith twisted his head a little, as if trying to burrow his head even deeper in the nest.  Though he couldn’t blush, Shiro grinned at the obvious embarrassment.

On an impulse, he leaned forward to kiss Keith’s snout.  “And trust me, I definitely want to do it again.”

Keith froze at that, one eye fixing on Shiro to watch him incredulously.  “ _ Now? _ ”

Shiro let out a bark of laughter, though it was more surprised than humorous.  “No, stars, of  _ course _ not now.  Let me rest, first, and you should, too.  Unless dragons can only mate once a century?” he teased.

“What—where the hell did you hear something stupid like that?” Keith asked waspishly, voice regaining some of its usual vigor.  Shiro tried not to grin.

“I didn’t.  I was joking.”  He laughed softly, placing another kiss on the side of Keith’s face.  “Just let me know.  I’ve… I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and trust me, I’m not done with you yet.”


	10. Chapter 10

If Shiro had been asked months ago what he would have been doing in a dragon’s cave, multiple rounds of mind-blowing sex would definitely not have been anywhere on the list of probability.  Shiro was very glad he had grown enough as a person to have a much more expansive imagination.

Still, he was pretty sure he had hit his limit.  While he suspected that Keith could have gone for multiple more rounds, the pleasant ache had begun to take on a deeper edge, and despite his renewed and impressive stamina, he was tiring.

Still, Keith didn’t seem to mind, nosing into Shiro’s hair and making fussy noises and in general making sure he was all right.  Shiro had suffered a few bumps and scrapes, a hazard, he supposed, of engaging in coitus with something 20 times your size.  But it wasn’t until he tried to wrap around Keith’s neck completely that it became a problem.

“Be careful!” Keith admonished, examining where Shiro had stuck himself with one of Keith’s neck spines.  “You could seriously hurt yourself.”

He wasn’t even bleeding.  Shiro rolled his eyes fondly.  “I’m fine, I promise.  I just wanted to cuddle.  It’s a thing humans like to do, after sex.  I guess.”  He didn’t exactly have any practice in that area, per se, but the overwhelming desire to do so said enough.

“I know, but you don’t have to hurt yourself to do it,” Keith huffed, pulling away and fixing Shiro with a pouty glare.  “We can be close other ways.  I told you I can shapeshift.”

Shiro went still, his faint smile slipping off of his face.  He wasn’t  _ opposed _ to the thought, really, but he had meant it, when he said he wanted Keith as he was.  Welcoming what was essentially a stranger’s form into his bed left him a little unsettled, as well.

And it brought up another hurdle as well: what if he didn’t like Keith’s human form?  He hated the thought deeply, wondering if it made him shallow for even thinking it.  But he had grown to love Keith for himself, and bringing another form, one that Shiro might have no interest in, complicated things immensely.  Not only could it sting, to hear Shiro’s rejection of this part of Keith, but what if Shiro realized that the prospect of never having someone human, to hold, to kiss, wasn’t enough for him?

What sort of lover would that make him then?

“I… don’t want you to think that’s all I want from you,” Shiro said cautiously.To his surprise, Keith just snorted.

“Shiro, you just took my dick in like ten different positions.  I know you like me as a dragon, same way I like you as a human.  But you know how you said you would’ve kissed me, earlier?  Maybe  _ I _ want to kiss  _ you. _ ”

Shiro could feel his face heating, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure what specific part of Keith’s words had done it.

Swallowing his worries, he nodded, pushing himself backwards gingerly.  “All right.”

Keith nodded, shifting himself away as well.  “It’s… been a bit since I’ve done this.  Give me a few minutes.”

Shiro held his breath.

A soft, glowing light encompassed Keith’s entire form, then shrank, leaving almost nothing in its wake, until it reached the rough size of a human—and then the light vanished.

The form that lay in front of him, lounging on the pillows, stark naked, was completely beautiful.

He was much smaller than Shiro: though the body didn’t lack muscles, they were much less present, lithe and wiry instead of bulky.  Shiro swallowed as he imagined those arms twining around his neck, the feel of that trim waist underneath his hands, what the legs might feel like tangled with his own.  Though his black hair wasn’t as long as Shiro’s, it looked soft and inviting, falling in silky locks to his shoulders, and Shiro couldn’t wait to bury his fingers in it.  The delicacy of Keith’s facial features surprised Shiro, a narrow jaw and arched brows that held a subtle ferocity that seemed almost fae.  Shiro thought back to Lotor and his odd alienness, and it was a similar beauty; but where Lotor’s had been cold and temptingly dangerous, Keith’s was heat and passion.  A prince of winter in comparison to a knight of summer.

But those purple eyes were the same, big and intense and watching Shiro with a guarded, wary expression.  And when Shiro tilted his head, he spotted the familiar long angles in the slope of his cheekbones and the jut of his chin that echoed the dragon’s face Shiro knew so well.

“Well?” Keith asked warily, and the voice was quieter, but exactly the same.

Shiro felt a sensation that actually, physically felt like his heart was melting.  He reached out to take Keith’s face, marveling in how different his hands looked, how they nearly enveloped the entire side of it.  A slight, pink blush flushed across Keith’s cheeks.

“You’re lovely,” he breathed, then closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss him.

—

As Shiro drifted back into consciousness, away from the drag of sleep, his first thought was that he wasn’t nearly as sore as he had expected.  Keith may have done a number on him, but the dragon saliva continued to work its magic—or maybe Keith just knew what he was doing.  Either way, as he stretched, there was only the faintest of aches below his tailbone.

And then a hum sounded from across from him, and he cracked an eyelid open.

Keith, limbs twined with Shiro’s, had the faintest of smiles on his face as he studied Shiro, purple eyes soft.  Shiro, heart beating wildly, returned the smile, though his stretched into a grin before he could help it.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

Keith only hummed, leaning forward, pressing their foreheads together, and Shiro closed the rest of the distance, pressing their lips together for a long, lingering kiss.

Shiro reached up to stroke his face, unable to get enough of the sensation of warm skin beneath his hands.  “It’s strange, being the smaller one, he chuckled sleepily.

Shiro didn’t miss the tension, the hesitation, so he pulled back, fingers carding through Keith’s soft hair.  He ran a thumb gently down Keith’s cheek, even as Keith looked away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice quiet, knowing, not leaving any room for denial that something, was, indeed wrong.

“It’s not… not exactly that.  But…”  Keith hesitated, then met Shiro’s eyes.  “Is this what you want from a lover?”

Shiro’s fingers stilled, and he withdrew his hand, carefully watching Keith to make sure he understood correctly.  “You?  I absolutely want you, Keith.  I told you, I lo—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Keith interrupted, voice uncharacteristically distressed.  Not the fussiness when something didn’t go his way, or when Shiro looked like he might be in danger of a hangnail, but true, genuine distress.  “I meant a human.”

Shiro’s eyes widened, and—of course.  Of course Keith would be concerned about this.  Shiro had been so caught up in how beautiful Keith’s human form was that… of course Keith had thought that Shiro would prefer it, not realizing that it was only a reaction to something new.

“Absolutely not,” he murmured, voice firm, as he extended his arms, drawing Keith in, pulling his head to his chest.  “I want you as you are.  I fell in love with you as a dragon, and if you never wanted to leave that form again, I would still love you.  I swear it.”

Though the words seemed simple, almost too easily said to Shiro, he could feel Keith beginning to relax in his arms.  “Really?”

“Absolutely.”  But… he knew that he would need to show that, not just say it.  Pulling back, he scooted away from Keith, tilting his head and smiling slightly.

“We should wash up, you know.  I’m still…”  He gestured down at his lap, and the mess of dragon saliva, precome, and semen had crusted onto his thighs.  Keith’s presence had been a distraction, but now that he was fully awake, it really was an absolutely disgusting sensation.  “And I can give you a neck rub, in the baths.  If you change back?”  Shiro inserted a hopeful note into the last few words.

The relief was visible on Keith’s human face for a split second before he shifted back in a showy scene of glowing light.

The ache between Shiro’s legs as he walked down to the hot pools deep within the mountain was faint enough to ignore, especially as Keith began nuzzling at his hair, clearly enchanted with the unusual sight of it being worn down, and checking that he was all right in general.  Shiro protested, just a bit, but he couldn’t help but be touched at the attention.

And when he finally sank into the first of the warm pools, enchanted to wash away impurities and whisk them away into the mountain, he hummed in contentment.

Even as a huge, splashy dragon settled down beside him.

The two of them went quiet for several minutes, Shiro scrubbing away the mess, then using the pumice* stones to spoil Keith, just the way he liked it.

They had settled back in the water, Keith’s tail twitching lazily, when a loud chime sent them both leaping momentarily into the air, then splashing back into the water, Keith’s considerably louder and with far more waves than Shiro’s.

“ _ Kierveros of Galrath! _  Where the  _ hell _ have you been!”

Shiro’s head snapped up at the female voice, head whirling around, looking for whatever intruder might have managed to sneak in.  But when his eyes settled on Keith, he could see that Keith was staring intently into the water.

“Mariza?  I’ve been  _ here! _  What the fuck is your  _ problem? _ ”

As Shiro continued to peer around, even more distressed now with the sharp tone in Keith’s voice, his eyes finally settled on the surface of the water.

_ Oh. _

A jade-colored dragon—at least, her face—glared up at him.  Or, rather, glared at whatever she must be using for scrying, likely another pool, but it at least  _ seemed _ like she was glaring at Shiro.  In reality, the angry look was likely directed at Keith, for some indiscernible reason.

“You weren’t last night!  Don’t you have it set up so you’ll be  _ notified _ if one of us calls in with an emergency?  What could have had you so busy that… oh.”

Shiro didn’t miss the fact that her voice had trailed off as Shiro had come closer, and the last word coincided almost exactly with when he would have come into proper view.  He suddenly remembered that he was very, very naked, and hoped that she could only see above the water.

Although the water only barely reached up to his hips, keeping him barely decent, and as his face colored a deep red, he tried to surreptitiously sink lower into the pool.

“Well, you’ll need to tell your new lover that you have to go.  Emperor Zarkon has finally called for a summit, and it’s this evening.”

Shiro’s head snapped up at the word  _ Zarkon. _  Keith’s nostrils flared at the word  _ summit. _

“He has?  When did he send out the news?”

“Last night.  He apologized for the lateness of the news, but said it was urgent.  That terrible things were happening to dragons, and that we needed to make peace  _ immediately. _  That we needed to make an alliance before we were  _ both  _ destroyed!”  The dragon tossed her head in an urgent motion, one that Shiro recognized from Keith as true distress.  “He said that the closest dragon to the castle had been slain—we thought you were  _ dead! _ ”

“No, not dead—what the  _ fuck? _ ” Keith snarled, baring his teeth.  “I hate him!  He’s the one after  _ us! _  He sent someone to  _ kill _ us last night!”

She froze, gaping at the two of them.  “Zarkon?  But… but that would mean war.  He said he was trying to make peace.”

“Zarkon,” Shiro said quietly, meeting her eyes, “is very good at manipulating others into doing his bidding, whatever that might be.  I sincerely doubt that he has any interest in making peace with the dragons.”

“But if he invited us all to a summit, he knows he would die if he tried anything.”

A beat of silence.  She needed to know, Shiro thought, but Keith…

“He has the Spear of Marmora.”

Mariza recoiled at the words, and she opened her mouth and let out a terrified roar.  “ _ What? _ ”

Keith hunched his shoulders slightly, but Shiro quickly stepped forward.

“He tried to kill Keith—uh, Kierveros.  Of Galrath.  With it.  Well, his son did.  Tried to kill me, too.  But I’ve heard from a reliable source that he’s planning to use it for… for nothing good, certainly.  We think he’s powered it up, possibly to use against multiple dragons, and whatever this is, it’s a trap.”

She nodded jerkily.  “If… you said… his son is a fae, right?  Fae magic can do plenty of nasty things.  If he’s found some way to extend the reach of the spear…”

“You need to contact as many dragons as you can,” Shiro said firmly.  “And tell them not to come to the summit.”

She nodded, eyes wide, and Shiro suddenly realized… she seemed very young.  Keith’s age, perhaps, or a small amount in either direction.  It was hard to tell with dragons.

“But… but so many of them have already left.  I only stayed so late because I’m almost as close as Kierveros of Galrath.  I don’t think I’ll be able to reach most of them.”

“Then do what you can,” Shiro replied, voice firm, as he stood back to his full height.  “We’ll take care of the rest.”

—

“Do you have a helmet?”

Shiro had thrown on his clothes as quickly as possible, practically skidding into his room to grab his armor.  His had been lost in the mess after Lotor had stabbed him, and while they had both searched afterward, they had found nothing.

“I… I think so.  Do you want me to…?”

“Yes.  Something light and strong, please, and if you have any with helpful enchantments…”  He paused, thinking frantically.  “And… and anything else you can think of that’ll be helpful that we can carry.  But we’ll have to travel light.  It’s already going to be hard enough for you to get there quickly with me in armor.”  He glanced down at his own satchel, knowing that he’d need to leave nearly everything behind…

“Just a minute!” Keith gasped.  “Don’t put on your armor yet!  Bring everything to the plateau!”

Then, he turned tail and bolted.

Shiro hesitated.  He didn’t know what in the world Keith was doing, but…

But Shiro would need to trust him.

Though his full set of armor was heavy, as was his bag, he lugged it all up as instructed.  He hadn’t yet gotten as back in shape as he’d wanted to, but he managed well enough, sinking down to rest on the rock at the top of Keith’s lair, the sun beating down on his slightly winded form.  No wonder Keith hadn’t wanted him to put on the armor; he knew very well that Shiro would bake underneath that hot sun.

Shiro felt and heard Keith long before he saw him.  The galloping below the mountain sent slight shudders through the ground at Shiro’s feet, growing larger until Keith burst out, a vision of black and shimmering purple in the hot sunlight.

Something fell at Shiro’s feet.

“Here,” Keith panted, as Shiro frowned, bending down to pick it up.

It was a satchel, it seemed like.  Handles, yes, but a bit frayed, a bit unimpressive.  The entire thing was as light as a feather.  Empty?

“The helmet’s in there.”

No.  Not empty.  Just—

Shiro gasped, eyes going wide as dinner plates, and he quickly flipped open the top, peering inside.  Darkness.  Not empty—Shiro couldn’t see the leather that would have made up the lining.  Absolute  _ darkness. _

“Is this…?”

Keith nodded, a little wobbly.  “Void pocket.  I found it the other day—I was waiting for a chance to…”  He swallowed, glancing away, but then shook himself.  “Anyway, I… I thought you might like it.”

“I like it,” Shiro laughed, a little desperately.  “And I’ll show my gratitude for you later.  Much later.  Once we’ve stopped this.”

Keith nodded his assent, and Shiro stretched open the mouth of the satchel.

His bag went inside first, tied shut to avoid spills, though he pulled a few things out to put them in individually for faster access.  Then his pauldrons and gauntlets, and even his greaves and breastplate.  He didn’t think that the last two would be able to fit, but somehow, despite all appearance to the contrary, he managed to slide them in, though the bag didn’t grow any larger and the armor didn’t grow any smaller.

His sword, however, he kept strapped to his waist.

Once finished, Shiro lifted the bag.  Still light as a feather.  He exhaled with relief, slinging the straps over his shoulders.  “Are you ready?”

Keith nodded, and Shiro turned to see his expression, grave and worried.  He had found a saddle, somewhere, it had seemed, and Shiro reached out to tighten the straps, grateful that he wouldn’t be riding bareback.

“I’m ready.  How long will it take you to fly?” he asked as he swung a leg over.  Ah.  Now,  _ there  _ was the soreness from yesterday.  Not unbearable, but a definite reminder.

“About an hour.”

Shiro nodded, expression intent.  “Then let’s go.”

Keith’s muscles tensed underneath him, and then he launched himself into the air, Shiro clinging on for dear life.


	11. Chapter 11

Shiro had thought about flying, many times, as he and Keith had grown closer.  He had never asked Keith about it, because he wasn’t sure how Keith would feel about the issue, since he never offered.  He had wondered if it would be frightening or exhilarating, freezing or heated from Keith’s body, smooth or jerky in flight.

As it turned out, it was everything.

Shiro would never have forgiven himself if he hadn’t looked down as Keith lifted off the ground, and he almost regretted it.  But only almost: despite the absolute, sheer terror at being higher off the ground than he ever could have imagined, there was something fascinating about it as well, seeing the entire desert—and, soon, countryside—stretched out underneath him like a map, almost.  The sight contrasted with the unexpected sensations: as they flew, Keith flapping frantically at a breakneck pace, the wind cut into Shiro’s face like daggers of ice, but when he leaned low, the heat from Keith’s body radiated outwards, leaving him almost uncomfortably warm.

In all, an unusual experience, and one that, if they repeated, Shiro knew they would need to make adjustments to in order to make it more comfortable.

And Shiro loved every second of it.

They eventually landed gracelessly right on the outskirts of the city, Keith in too much of a hurry to worry about finesse, and stopped only long enough for Shiro to throw on his armor.  They barely said two words to each other, only an assurance that Keith was still able to carry him.  Screams sounded from around them, of course, calls for weapons, for guards, but Shiro didn’t particularly care.  The presence of a knight seemed to stall them for long enough that they were off again before anyone could really do anything.

And then, a few minutes later, they were diving towards the Emperor’s palace.

Shiro had spent some time there prior to this trip, having been treated as a guest of honor when offering his services, and he knew exactly where his entry point would be.

“There!” he called, pointing, not knowing if Keith could hear him.  It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway.  It was too obvious to miss.

With a roar, the sun at his back, Keith soared towards the east wall, crashing through the enormous stained glass window that Shiro remembered had shone soft light on the throne room.

The screaming began immediately, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that Keith tilted his head back and let out a jet of fire up towards the ceiling.  Shiro knew very well that, given the conflict between this kingdom and the dragons, this could come across very badly, but they had no time to think of alternate options.  It was stop them immediately, in whatever way possible, or die trying.

Shiro leaped off Keith’s back, drawing his sword.  They had agreed, briefly, to no killing unless absolutely necessary.  Shiro had met these men, and it wasn’t their fault that the man they served had deceived him.

The reaction was more immediate than Shiro had hoped.  There hadn’t been  _ nearly _ as many guards the last time Shiro had been there, and he had to wonder why Zarkon had increased his security so tightly.

But then again, he was about to invite hundreds of dragons to a summit, so perhaps that question wasn’t too difficult to find the answer to after all.

Shiro spotted Zarkon through the slits in his helmet, eyes gleaming furiously, as the man stood, tall and imperious in front of his throne.  Lotor was nowhere in sight, but right now, Shiro had only one goal.

Keith, hard scales making traditional weapons useless, swept his tail out from under several guards, sending them tumbling to the ground.  Another sweep left them scattering in multiple directions.  It would take them time to lift themselves back up, and in the meantime, Keith focused on clearing the path to Zarkon.

“The spear!”

The yell from the emperor sent a chill down Shiro’s back.  Zarkon had the spear?  Shiro had counted on him being unarmed in the throne room, or at least not lugging around a massive dragon-killing weapon.  Guards, they could handle, but if someone stuck Keith with that spear, it would all be over.  With a snarl, Shiro backhanded a guard with one gauntleted hand, then spun his sword to disarm another, sending them flying with a pommel strike, surging forward.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro could spot that Keith had withdrawn his wings at the words.  Good.  Fewer targets, at the very least.  The spear might be able to magically drain, but if they couldn’t get it through Keith’s scales in the first place—

Something huge clocked into the side of his helmet from behind, and Shiro staggered, barely managing to keep his fingers curled around his sword.  He tried to continue on, move quickly enough to get away from his attacker, but a second blow crashed into the middle of his back, dazing him enough that someone was able to leap onto him from behind.

An arm snaked around Shiro’s neck, pulling tight until he was barely able to breathe.  Shiro struggled, his own arm lifting in an attempt to yank it off.  He should be able to—he could outwrestle nearly anyone when it came to sheer strength.

But it continued to tighten, and Shiro distantly realized that wasn’t quite right: he could outmatch most, but only if they were fully human.

“I really, really didn’t want to do this,” Lotor’s voice hissed in Shiro’s ear, and as another hand knocked into his sword arm, sending it clattering away, Shiro distantly had the briefest of moments to realize that the hilt hadn’t been hot.

A kick to the back of his knees, and Shiro found himself forced to the ground, helmet clattering to the ground in front of him.  A dagger found the soft part of his neck, and Shiro froze.  This was it.  It was over.  He only hoped that Keith could stop Zarkon, whatever he had planned..

But the strike never came.

“Hold him!” came Lotor’s imperious voice, and Shiro could hear a guard rushing over.  He tried to turn, but found himself stopped by the point of the dagger up under his jaw, and soon, a naked sword took its place.

“You’re lucky he doesn’t want me to kill you,” came the unfamiliar growl in his ear.  “ _ Assassin. _ ”

Shiro opened his mouth to plead, to  _ explain  _ himself to her, but everything else happened too quickly.

With a shout, Lotor raised the spear, and a jet of purple flame shot from its tip, darting out to wrap around Keith.

For the briefest of completely terrible, awful moments, Shiro thought it was about to devour him.  He watched, eyes wide with horror, unable to even shout as it enveloped Keith, pulling in tighter.

But instead of sending Keith bursting into flames, it simply jerked downward, pinning Keith against the floor.  He roared, in pain and frustration, but he was alive.

Still, if Keith couldn’t move, then for how long?

Shiro wrenched in her grip despite the woman’s sword at his throat, but if he moved any more, he would end up dead.  Desperation welled up in his chest and spilled over into his mouth with an anguished scream.

“ _ KEITH. _ ”

With a terrified roar, Keith barely managed to twist his head, eyes locking on Shiro.  They widened in horror, and he strained to lift his neck for the briefest of moments.

But the pressure was too great, and with a groan of pain, his head slammed back to the floor.  His legs thrashed, but the magic continued to bear him down, and his teeth bared in fury.

“Shiro,  _ no! _ ”

Such was Shiro’s despair that it took him several moments to notice that a few things had changed.  As he watched Keith continue to struggle helplessly, he gradually realized that the room had grown quieter.  The sounds of fighting had stopped, and instead, murmuring had taken its place.

“Sir Silverarm?”

The quiet, shocked voice from behind him pulled Shiro back to the present.  Though he only glanced around for a moment, he could see that the guards had stumbled back, staring in his direction, recognition in their eyes.  Lotor, undoubtedly, had told them that he had perished.

But the moment the sword on Shiro’s throat lowered, he lunged forward for his own.  He gripped the hilt, rising, casting about for Lotor.  If he could get him away from the spear, separate it from Lotor’s magic, he and Keith might stand a chance.

The prince was a vision up on the dais, brilliant white hair standing out amongst everyone else, eyes blazing, sword drawn.   _ The spear!  Where was— _

Behind Lotor, Zarkon stopped forward, face twisted in an ugly snarl, spear raised.  Stomach sinking, Shiro could see that Lotor was no longer touching it at all.  He would need to stop Zarkon himself, in a throne room full of his guards.  True, they might not be fighting at the moment, but a direct attack on their king—

“Kill them!” Zarkon snarled, and Shiro braced himself.

But to Shiro’s utter shock, the only one to move forward was Lotor, face twisting an utterly incensed expression—but it had only done so at the order, not before.  Even as Lotor glanced around, realizing, as Shiro had, that the presence of Sir Shiro Silverarm the Lionhearted had dramatically changed the game, his anger seemed to shift into something that resembled bitterness, resentfulness, rather than fury.

Shiro jerked his head to toss a stray lock of white hair out of his face.  His eyes met Lotor’s, chest and expression steely as he stepped forward, sword at the ready.  Lotor matched his movements, blade pointed at Shiro’s throat.

Even as Keith screamed for him again, Shiro lunged.

Lotor had no small skill as a swordsman.  His technique didn’t match up to Shiro’s, not quite, but Shiro quickly learned that his speed and reach made up for the difference, and he had to shove Keith's peril out of his mind; he couldn't afford the distraction.  Still, Shiro had experience fighting against the inhuman, and even as Lotor managed to deflect Shiro’s strikes, Shiro found it at least possible to fend him off in turn.  Shiro technically had the upper hand: he only needed to make this last long enough.  Lotor eventually  _ would _ make a mistake, and Shiro  _ would _ find it.

But the growing stitch in his lung, the shortness of breath that he tried desperately to conceal, meant that window of opportunity needed to come soon if Shiro didn't want to die instead.

Keith continued to roar off to the side, but he didn’t seem to be in growing pain, only what had been caused by the magical restraint.  While he couldn’t move or breathe fire, Keith didn’t appear to be in danger of dying immediately, not with the way the rest of the guards were holding back.

But over Lotor’s shoulder, Shiro spotted movement.  Zarkon, not even looking at the two dueling in front of him, had begun to descend the dais.  He was headed towards Keith, spear extended in front of him.

Shiro couldn’t let this drag on any longer.

He twisted, shifting, sidestepping another thrust from Lotor.  He maneuvered their battle, slowly turning, smacking away Lotor’s strikes with increasing fatigue.  But only a fraction of his attention was on the prince.

As soon as his back was to Zarkon, he leaped backwards, then spun, shoving his free hand into his satchel and bolting towards the emperor.

Zarkon’s head jerked around to face Shiro, and he crouched, lifting the spear to guard himself.  Shiro kept forward anyway.

A blow smacked Shiro in the back of his armor, and he gasped, staggering, dropping his one-handed grip on his sword.  The murmuring around them turned angry at the dishonorable blow, but Shiro continued forward—

Yet again, Lotor wrapped his arms around Shiro from behind in an attempt to restrain him, but too late.  Shiro had ripped Pidge’s scroll out of the satchel, hissed a word, and his arm sped forward as he released it in Zarkon’s direction.

Every eye in the room watched it spiral through the air, as if in slow motion, before it struck the king in the chest.

A brilliant flash of light and a cloud of smoke, and Shiro could feel even Lotor take a step back.  Shiro ended up yanked back with him, but he didn’t resist, instead watching, not breathing. He heard the spear clatter to the ground.

No one moved, the room completely silent, as the smoke cleared to reveal a very angry, very horny-looking toad.

Lotor dropped Shiro’s arm.

The only one in the throne room prepared, Shiro immediately lunged forward yet again, snatching up his sword.  He whirled, pointing it at Lotor, meeting his eyes.  The prince took another step back, then let go of his own sword and lifted his hands, dropping to his knees, staring intently at Shiro.

“I yield.”

It was only the fact that the guards had stopped attempting to kill Shiro once they had discovered his identity that saved their lives once Keith managed to push himself off the ground, twisting and snapping and scrambling over to Shiro, curling around behind him and hissing at all oncomers.  Shiro had to lift his hand to rest it gently on Keith’s snout, calming him, before anyone deemed it safe to approach.

“Sir Silverarm,” the head of the guard eventually said, offering him a bow.  She turned to Lotor, eyeing him warily.  “…Highness.  I think I speak for all of us when I say that we would like some sort of explanation.”

Shiro’s gaze cut to Lotor, but the prince made no attempt to cover up the situation with a lie.

“Go on,” Lotor murmured, expression intent, almost fascinated.  “I have to wonder what you’ve managed to discover.”

Shiro’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.  But he couldn’t sense a trap.  He stepped over carefully to the dais, sheathing his sword, then taking the spear in one hand and gingerly lifting toad Zarkon, angrily ribbiting at him, in the other.

Lifting his head, he met the captain of the guard’s eyes.  “This, all of it, has been a trap to lure the nearby dragons into a summit.  An offer of peace from the Emperor.”  At the nods of understanding, he continued.  “Prince  _ Lotor _ was complicit in this.  So was I, unintentionally.  You know that I was contracted to rescue him from the clutches of Kierveros of Galrath.”  Shiro glanced over his shoulder at Keith, then nodded.  “What he  _ didn’t _ mention is that he had been imprisoned for attempting to steal the Spear of Marmora, a weapon specifically built to slay dragons.”

“He never will forgive me for that, will he?” Lotor murmured, eyeing Keith, almost looking amused.  Keith bared his teeth and hissed viciously at him.

“He said you were killed,” the captain said, turning to inch away from Lotor.  “Trying to rescue him.”

Zarkon ribbited again, breaking the silence, and Shiro tucked him into the void pocket, the angry noises going silent as soon as the flap closed.

“Almost.”  Shiro leveled his eyes at Lotor, who refused to look back.  “He stabbed me in the back, when I discovered his transgressions.  I almost died, but Kei—rverors of Galrath nursed me back to health.  I expect he sent the assassin to confirm that I had died that day.”

“Ahh,” Lotor murmured.  “So she played me, then.  And I utterly fell for it.  Well done.”  Instead of angry, he did look genuinely impressed, and Shiro’s sword, as he reached out to touch the hilt, remained cold.  “Does everyone know and admire you then, Sir Shirogane, that even an assassin will turn on her employer for you?”

Shiro could feel his cheeks heat at the words, but before he had a chance to respond, Keith snapped from behind him, “Shouldn’t they?  If course they like him better than  _ you. _ ”

Lotor’s lips twisted into a smirk as he eyed Shiro.  “A dragon whisperer too, I see.”

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the heat in his face, and the captain of the guard—Olia, Shiro finally remembered, from his time at the castle—crossed her arms.  Behind the neutral, almost hard expression, Shiro caught a glimpse of betrayal.

“So all of this—murder, treachery, lies—what was it all for?” she asked, voice tight.

“To slay the dragons?  Money,” Shiro replied, voice clipped and cold.  “They’ve depleted the treasury.  I don’t know if you realize how badly.  One dragon carcass worth a fortune.”  From behind him, Shiro could feel Keith shudder.  “Can you imagine how much an entire flight would be?”

“There are hundreds coming,” Keith murmured, the eyes of the entire room shifting to him with horror.  “And  _ he _ ,” Keith spat at Lotor, “wanted to kill us  _ all. _  For  _ money. _ ”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Lotor murmured, lowering his hands to rest on his thighs.  Shooting a glance at Shiro, whose hand still held his sword’s hilt, he clearly misunderstood its purpose.  “I’m not going to try anything.  You can calm down.”

Despite the fact that the sword’s temperature didn’t change, Shiro left his hand where it was.

“Fine, fine.  My point is: this was my father’s idea, and it was moronic.  You’ll notice that I was the one who ended up in the most immediate danger because of it.  Being sent to steal from a dragon’s hoard.  Finding and consorting with an assassin.  Being the only one with the magic to initially activate the spear, meaning  _ I  _ would be in the line of fire.  Personally, I prefer being alive than to being rich, especially when my father was the one who drained the treasury in an attempt to militarize the country.”

“And yet you went along with it,” Keith spat.  “Sounds like you’re moronic, too.”

Lotor merely shot Keith a disdainful look.  “I had no choice.”  Ignoring Keith’s snort, he fixed Shiro with an intent stare.  “As in,  _ physically _ had no choice.  My father always thought I might be a threat.  As such, I was forced to swear an oath to serve and obey him as long as he held power over the throne.  He was very careful to include the ‘power over’ part.”  Lotor smirked.  “But a toad can't hold power over anything.”

The realization had begun to dawn on Shiro, and the last words confirmed it.  “Because you’re a Fae.”

Lotor nodded curtly, and off to his side, Shiro could see Olia frown.  “But you can clearly tell lies,” she said, tone cautious.

He shrugged.  “Well, half-Fae.  Able to lie, though it takes effort, but still bound irrevocably to oaths.”

“And how do we know you’re not lying to us now?” she asked sharply, and having her at least somewhat on Shiro’s side left him feeling much better about this entire situation, really.

“I believe Sir Dragonwhisper over there has the answer you’re looking for.”

Straightening in surprise, both at Lotor’s knowledge and the new title—had he just gained a new one?—Shiro still nodded.  “Yes.  I have a… an enchantment that tells me when others are lying.  It’s never failed me before.”

“I figured, when you turned against me so quickly after my own bald-faced lies to you.  So, for clarity: I’ve been bound to my father since I was a child.  I won’t insult you by pretending that I’m entirely blameless of anything I’ve ever done; you’re too smart for that.  But I  _ will _ say, if I had been able to put a halt to this plot, I would have tried from the moment it was conceived.”

Every eye in the room locked onto Shiro, waiting for confirmation.  Shiro nodded.

“So why are you telling us this?” Shiro asked, voice quiet.  “You want mercy?”

“I want my throne.”

“Absolutely not!” Keith roared, before anyone else could react.  “Shiro, he tried to  _ kill— _ ”

“And I  _ am _ sorry for that,” Lotor interrupted, finally rising from his knees, voice regal as he lifted his chin and stared Shiro down.  Not many people were taller than Shiro, and he found he very much did not like it.  “I didn’t want either of you dead.  And now that you’ve stopped my father’s idiocy, I’m very glad I didn’t succeed.  All I want to do is bring this mess of a country back from the brink, and I’m the best—the  _ only _ person in a position to make that happen.  And I’m willing to swear whatever oaths to you that I need in order to do so.”

Shiro continued to hold the hilt of his sword, knuckles tight, just watching.  Not a single lie from Lotor’s lips.

“Honesty can be a weapon, Sir Shiogane,” Lotor murmured, eyes not leaving Shiro’s.  “You, of all people, should know that.”

Shiro’s lips pressed together tightly.  “Just because you’re honest doesn’t make you a nice person.”

“No,” Lotor said flatly.  “I’m not.  But you are, and you’ll be the one to whom I’ll be swearing those oaths.  You won’t force me to swear anything that would cause undue harm, and you’ll make sure that I end up operating close enough to your standards of morality that we’ll both end up appeased, if not entirely happy.”

Keith’s growling from behind Shiro grew louder, and Shiro couldn’t blame him—being pegged so neatly into this hole left him gritting his teeth—but Lotor continued.

“Besides, killing or dethroning me would lead to a civil war that would tear this country apart.  You couldn’t live with that, and neither could my captain of the guard live with allowing that to happen.”

Shiro’s eyes slid back towards Olia.  She was watching him, saying nothing, but expression pleading.

After an age of silence, Shiro finally spoke.

“She helps us in determining what oaths you take.  There will be very, very many.  And I decide what to do with the toad.”

Lotor’s mouth widened in a toothy grin.  “Deal.”


	12. Epilogue

“…I guess that could have gone worse than it did.”

Shiro grinned over at Keith, trying not to laugh at how awkwardly he sat in the horse’s saddle.  King Lotor—the title of “emperor” had been done away with, along with undoing the aggressive demilitarization of the kingdom—had sent them off with a pair in a surprising show of gratitude.  Since Keith had decided to remain in human form until word of the peace with the dragons—accomplished with no small bit of promises, explanations, and pleading from Lotor, Keith, and Shiro—had spread, they had needed alternate means of transportation.  Lotor had been kind enough to oblige.

No, Shiro corrected himself.  Not kind.  Clever.  Keeping Shiro and Keith’s alliances.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Shiro said, quiet and proud, watching Keith with adoration.  To his delight, Keith went read and looked away.

“Yeah, well, I just hope it works.  I still don’t trust that guy.  And not just because you think he’s pretty.”

Shiro rolled his eyes.  “Trust me, Keith, you are far more beautiful, no matter what form you might take.”

“Even as a toad?”

Shiro let out a bark of laughter at that.  “Even as a toad.”

Keith nodded, satisfied.  “You bet your ass I am.  I’d look way better than Toadkon.”

The former emperor still sat in Shiro’s void pocket, the nature of the enchantment keeping him in a sort of stasis that prevented him from starving to death.  He had yet to decide what to do with Zarkon for good, but killing a defenseless creature was absolutely something Shiro couldn’t bring himself to do.  And he had time to decide.

“You would.  And about Lotor… I think he has enough people around to keep him honest.  If not, we’ll be back.”

Keith made a noise of assent, and Shiro snuck a glance over, admiring Keith’s profile in the fading light.

“So what now?”

“Well, I’ve heard that the Naga queen is in dire need of assistance with fending off invaders to her kingdom.

Keith nodded, expression solemn as he turned to watch Shiro back.  “So we help?”

“We help,” Shiro affirmed, nudging his horse in that direction.  “Sir Shiro Dragonwhisper and his lover, Sir Keith the Bold, off to help a kingdom in peril.”

A slow smile spread across Keith’s face, expression almost wondrous.  “You know, I like it.”

Shiro could only beam back, heart joyous at the endless possibilities ahead.

“Me too.”

_Art by[Yoshirueme](http://yoshirueme.tumblr.com/)_


End file.
